Do you know what it feels like to be the last one in school?
To be standing at the gate, watching all your friends leave one by one — some by cycle, some in a rickshaw, some into the outstretched arms of their parent …
You stand there thinking about them pedaling home, catching up with other friends on the rickshaw, being smothered with love by the parent.
You stand, switching legs, the school bag slipping off of your shoulder as the clock continues ticking … the ice cream man is packing up; so is the candy man.
You look tiredly at cars flying by.
The gatekeeper comes and asks you if you need to make a call.
You shrug.
“Daddy must be on his way,” you tell him.
He says, “See you tomorrow,” and walks away.
You look around — it’s eerie to watch the empty playground.
You wonder if ghosts come and play football there at night.
The school has a history of ghosts … there has to be some truth in those stories that make their rounds in the dorm.
Towel-snatching, bed-rumbling, door-locking mischievous ghosts that appear only when the matron isn’t around.
And then you spot a living ghost … the school’s head sweeper. Frail and sickly, she grumpily goes about her business.
You wonder if there is no happiness in her life. If she has any kids. If she hates us all for making the mess we do. If she even hates Nature for all the leaves those trees shed.
She notices you.
You don’t want to have a conversation with her.
What would you talk about? The weather? She’d only complain.
No, it’s best to just keep staring at your watch and move to the side of the brick wall separating you.
Time seems to pass in slow motion. A fraction of a second seeming a minute-long.
“Where is he?” you wonder. Traffic jam? Meeting at work? Flat tire? Or did he forget?
You let your mind stray again.
The what ifs jamming your brain.
And just as you’re getting ready to hitch a ride home, you see him.
Do you know that feeling of relief?
I don’t…
I never knew what it felt like to be the last one at school either. I just used to be the last one out.
Dad would be the one waiting for me.
I wonder if he had the random thoughts I imagined up there.
I wonder if this “disturbedness” has always been a part of me.
Letting my mind wander aimlessly. Concocting experiences. Creating memories. Conjuring up scenarios.
Messing with you on a pleasantly disturbed Thursday.
C’mon, give me a laugh. Or better still, share your memories from school.
And if you have a problem with these disturbed ramblings, don’t contact me.
It’s all Duane Scott‘s fault.
Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Mansi Bhatia
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Mine were always there for me , too. I miss them.
My schools were always only a couple of miles away, so I never got rides unless it was raining or something.
No memories like that to pass on.
I do recall playing Dungeons & Dragons in Math class in 6th grade because me and my friends had moved so far ahead of everybody else that they didn’t want us to move *too* far ahead. So we were able to do what we wanted while the rest of the class caught up.
Ah, those were the days.
You had me feeling really sad for you, so hats off to your prose ability!
Now.. poor Dad.. wondering if you’d ever come out and go home again…
No one ever picked me up.. I had to walk…..
Memories are a powerful thing. Hold on to them
Thanks for sharing your memory, Dave. I miss school days — simpler times…although I don’t think I’d want to be a teenager again
Cool! “Someone” fell for that! I guess I should explore fiction writing some time
I know … I feel bad for him, too. He said once when I was all grown up that I socialized too much. That’s what school was all about, though, wasn’t it?
Oh, I used to wait back after school for my drawing lessons, and it was all spooked out with just the maids leaving for their homes and most of the teachers had left, too. It looked like a dungeon with classic infrastructures.
Though I’d probably never want to go back. Probably.
It was fun, but maybe it was due to friends.
Nice post, btw.
Got me reminiscing.
-vedangi.
Wow… I did NOT see that coming… That was brilliant!
I feel bad for your dad. I loved this post. LOVED IT!
Thanks, Vedangi, for sharing your memories.
Heh. Look what you’ve got me into — never thought I could write fiction; but never thought I was this disturbed either!