Echos of an Eagle

I unlock the doors to an empty school, hopping to return the bar lock to its hook perched just out of my reach.  It is dark, eerie. I shuffle through the building, flipping light switches. These halls, so familiar, once a part of the past. Yawning, I turn the corner, taking another sip of my coffee. I naturally love the early hours, but everyone has their vices, and mine is that delicious kick of caffeine. Near the top of the stairs, I peek into a dark classroom; the apparitions begin to appear:

Mrs. Hahn stands at the front of this room. She is lecturing the class about Lewis and Clark and the trail they followed to the West. She pauses, explaining how years later we know where their campsites were due to the mercury traces in their food. I watch the confused red-headed girl in the middle raise her hand. “Wouldn’t they have had some kind of allergic reaction to the poison?" she asks. The teacher replies, “Well, that would be like having an allergic reaction to a nuclear fallout!” As the class becomes a fit of teenage giggles, I shake my head with a chuckle, and the scene dissolves.

Moving farther through the commons, I fumble for my key to open the drama closet, my office. As I settle in, I look around and sigh; Will this room ever be organized? I have tried to wrangle in the disorder of what is “The Drama Closet,” but it always manages to find its way back to chaos during a performance week. In a way, I don’t mind the clutter, it reminds me that I love what I do. I reach for the props we will use in this morning’s rehearsal when I catch a glimpse of that blue Victorian costume:

Mr. Worthing! Rise from that semi-recumbent posture. It is most indecorous!  The line goes through my head as I stand backstage waiting for my cue. This spring’s show is The Importance of Being Earnest, and I have been cast as the uptight antagonist, Lady Bracknell. It is my sophomore year, not to mention my first year at Heritage but I have become comfortable with the routine of a new school. I peek through the opening of a crack in the set. There he is. I never thought I would like a red-head; aren’t my own auburn curls enough for one relationship? But he’s so cute, and I know he likes me. Lost in thought, I almost miss my cue, but just as Earnest kneels to propose to my stage daughter, I put on my disapproving frown and burst onto the scene.

Taking hold of the heavy Tiffany blue skirt, I once again smile. Little did I know that that moment was the beginning of the rest of my life in more ways than one. Time is ticking and students are arriving. I return to the present, gather up the props and my script, ready for class to start. I make my way down the hall towards the gym. Entering the Lyceum, I find myself in Bible class:

Mr. Cuckler stands at the board, taking us though the book of Revelation. We sit and scribble down notes, praying that we will be able to remember all this information when the time comes for the big exam. I turn to my friend, PJ, and she is chomping on a bag of Cheetos. She offers me one, but as she places the orange stick of cheesy death into my palm, she whispers, “Sorry, they’re kinda soggy.” I giggle, “Eww,” but pop it into my mouth anyway. She was right, that Cheeto was soggy, and it was nasty.  But, as teenage girls are like to do, we entered into a silent fit of laughter, the inside joke of the “soggy Cheetos” becoming an instant antidote.

I watch as we giggle away at the table. By this time, my readers may be wondering if I even received an education, or if I spent my high school years pondering a certain red-head and laughing with my friends. In fact, I did receive a good education, and I thank my teachers at Heritage for all their hard work. Yet, the memories that come to mind are those of relationships, hours spent learning, growing, laughing, and loving.  I have the privilege of walking alongside my memories daily. I know I am in a minority when I say I enjoy looking back on these years, and be assured, not all of them are good. But each one allowed me to be here again, and I thank God every day I am.

As I enter the gym, I turn back one last time, watching my friends as we disappear from sight, echoes of the past.