Healing in Progress

Adam

Sweat is running down my neck

as I enter the hallways of my next four years.

My eyes dart, I look around.

Push,

shove,

slam,

ring.

First warning bell.

Shit. I think to myself.

First day and I'm already going to be late.

I scoff and look down at the crumpled paper

that's supposed to tell me where to go,

but with the scurrying and the pushing,

my brain is working in hyper drive.

The second bell rings

and I'm alone.

All it took was a matter of seconds

for my world to become empty.

I considered turning right back around.

I considered leaving and never coming back.

But I knew that I couldn't do that.

So I looked down at the schedule before me.

Room 205, Creative Writing, Mr. Morrison.

Part of me hoped that he was cute,

I needed a distraction from the first day jitters.

I looked up and around,

200's were on the second floor.

Grabbing my backpack straps I walk forward,

hoping I can find the stairwell quickly.

Rounding a corner,

I saw the glass-enclosed,

twisting stairway to the second-floor balcony.

I quicken my pace towards the stairwell,

moving two stairs at a time to the classroom.

The hallway starts at 220, so I walked forward,

moving all the way down to the brightly decorated,

vibrant feeling open door of Mr. Morrison.

A very well groomed man that looked to be

no more than twenty-seven sat on the desk,

hands flying around as he spoke.

My heart skips a beat, eyes bright.

Cute was an understatement.

His head turns to me,

smile bright as he waves me into the classroom.

I step in and there are only five others

sitting in a circle formed out of desks.

Three girls and two other boys.

I guess not many people signed up for this class.

"Sorry I'm late, I got lost." I voice,

making my way over to an empty desk,

setting my backpack down.

"That's not a problem at all,"

Mr. Morrison assured, peering down at the roster in his hands,

"Adam I presume? I know how hard it is, new school,