School Borders

Walking up uneven sidewalks— up cracked little hills of pavement, past dingy apartments gliding through trailer parks— rough rails and low fences skidding my fingertips— reaching the dampened street. Through an empty crosswalk where children once would wait to pass— vigilant cross guards leading laughing kids to safety. Staring ahead at navy-blue walls once where gathering peers chattered, beholding the path ahead through the towering gate— my heart flutters in fearful bittersweet. I wander through those familiar school gates now darkened— glaring in the dead of night. “Go home,” it warns, as I pass—wiry wind behind me rattling the black metal openings. “It’s dark out here.” No voices… No teachers… No students… No faculty… No giggling… No taunts… No lunch lines… No time-outs… No tardy slips… No restrictions tonight— but there is trash from yesterday splayed along the wet grounds— midnight rain ceasing. Do I feel exhilaration or shame walking through this graveyard of academia? What am I learning in this strange silence? I try not to recall the dead black cat wedged in a crevice of split concrete, located in a locked, gated corner past the large, muddy PE field. I used to play there. I would gaze through that locked gate, terrified of what I would see— but it was empty Then. Now, near the edge of school grounds, I hear her hiss from where I stand, as if she is warning me. I would hate to be locked up into your dark corner— destined to gaze up lifeless at an unforgiving night sky— destined to exist lonely amongst the screams, coaches’ whistles and laughter from oblivious children and teachers. In my wildest dreams, I hold endless keys to locked gates— filled with ends and hard truths most will fight to forget. She taught me something that makes my blood grow cold: there is far more to learn now than ever before— beyond these school borders.