My Era, Ended

A couple of days ago, I had some time left over between when I got out of school and when I had to meet my mother to take me home. Usually, I would have just gone straight to the City Library and settled in for a long hour of iPod-listening and AP-reading, but I managed to intercept David, and we decided it has high time we revisit the BK Lounge of our nightmares. Neither of us had visited the BK Lounge since one fateful day in seventh grade. We worried that they would recognize us, that they would remember our deeds, and apprehend us like we deserved. Alas, that's a spin to be spun some other time. We worried, and David assured me that nothing bad would happen. I think he was telling himself more than he was telling me. Nothing bad did happen, but as we sat in the formed plastic chairs and thought back, our conversation turned to Strest.

David isn't currently enrolled in Strest's rigorous college-prep program, which I am, though he fully understands the pressure it puts on the mind. I told him how I hated Strest. He agreed passionately, taking pains not to choke on his food as he expressed his hatred. We talked about how all of his friends from SLAA, now attending A Mathematically Engineered School, and even his friends attending Strest, are having the times of their lives. David's friends are having fun, while he's getting ostracized. We talked about how different Strest was from SLAA. We talked about the difference between SLAA alumni and the alumni from the local public schools. Since when was it okay to talk non-stop during class? Since when was it okay to leave your entire lunch's worth of garbage deposited in the lawn? Since when was it okay to ask your friend, "Hey, you holding?" in the middle of second period? The conversation then led us to a strange realization: Salt Lake Arts Academy taught us respect. No matter how dreadful the administration could be, we ultimately learned something no other school could have taught us. We learned the meaning of comradery.

And David confessed to me that he shed tears for the end of his years at SLAA. He had gone home on the last day of eighth grade, lain himself on his bed, and cried until he thought he was retching with the shudders of more waves of sobbing. I was sitting across from this boy who really, honestly, cared about the school he was leaving. In that instance, he looked more human than I had ever seen him. I saw him as he honestly was. I remembered the last day of school, and how I hadn't cried. I, who had been there since the maiden year, hadn't cried.

Our conversation helped me to truly understand that it had ended. The era of my existence at SLAA had ended, and I had watched it pass by. In some ways, I believe that the era is over, but in others, I think it's still alive. Those years will always remain in my mind for their effect on my life. My life really was changed at that school, I'll never forget that.