I have a morning release, but since my brother and neighbor do not, I always give them a ride. So I spend my release in the library doing homework. Especially now that I bring my laptop to school, I’m productive and perpetually entertained.
Today, I left the library before the bell rang, because I’d finished with two textbooks that I didn’t feel like carrying around. After bringing them to my locker, I decided that I didn’t want to go back to the library. My computer was off and I wasn’t really in the mood to talk. I was tired and stuffy. Looking around me, I could feel the walls caving in on me, trapping me, smothering me.
Although I knew it was cold outside, I chanced the weather to escape the depressing turn of my thoughts. Stepping out into the clean, cool air, my peacoat held on with only one button, I closed my eyes and inhaled. I concentrated on taking deep breaths of brisk air and the sound of my black Converse padding against the cement.
It’s that time of year where the leaves are just beginning to turn. A mix of yellow and green spanned in front of me as I turned the corner to my next classroom, relishing the silence of that moment just before the bell rings. To my right, three blue benches faced the parking lot, and just past them I saw a friend, a male friend that I’m beginning to like more and more, walking to them as well. Glancing at my phone, I had about five minutes of this blissful silence before the rush between classes.
Changing my course just slightly, I went to sit next to him, hands in my deep jacket pockets, hunched over into my backpack. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You have a first hour release too?”
“Yeah.” Pause. “I want to sleep.”
“Me too.”
“We have a discussion in lit. I’ll sleep in there.”
I laughed appreciatively, marveling as my breath swirled up and away from my face. He went on to insult several members of our class, but in his soft, teasing way. We weren’t really looking at each other, other than a glance every once in a while to prove we were listening.
And then it was silent again. We don’t really know each other well enough to have long, in depth conversations, but I didn’t mind the lack of talking. I watched his feet tap on the cement, and his slow grin sitting easily on his suntanned face. And there was something about that moment, just sitting there without talking, listening to each other breathing, shivering slightly in the cold, that was beautiful. His shirt read “Live Simply”, which I saw once the moment passed and we trudged to Government. And thinking back to that moment, I couldn’t agree more.
