Have you ever been in the wrong place?

True Story: Junior High

Photo by Mche Lee on Unsplash

This week I’m looking back on the many stories I have from my past. I haven’t done one of these in a long time.

I’m in need of a good laugh. How about you?

It all started early one morning. The alarm went off (actually, it was probably my Mom). She got me up for breakfast. She made me breakfast, probably cereal. I may have had orange juice too. I don’t remember.

Why can’t I remember? Because this was a long, long time ago. It was during the 1985-1986 school year. I was in my last year of junior high.

I think I was living at the second place on the beach. If you have read any of the other stories I’ve written you’ll remember I lived at two different locations when I lived on the beach.

That day, I came out of the townhouse and walked down the street. Our street turned onto the road into the subdivision. I turned right and walked toward the very busy main road. This was the main thoroughfare. You couldn’t go anywhere unless you were on this main road. The road ran north and south and was heavily traveled. There are a lot of people who live on the barrier island. On the east side of the road, you have the Atlantic Ocean and on the west side, you have the Indian River.

The bus stop was actually across the street. I walked along the side of the road until it was time to cross it. So each day, I crossed the road watching for the crazy speeding drivers. Over the years, there have been many accidents along that stretch of road, with some being fatal.

The townhouse subdivision I lived in also had larger three-story townhouses across the street. These had direct beach access and a nice view!

All of the kids would stand next to the large sign with the subdivision name on it. We all stood on the pavement. The bus would come up from the south.

After the bus stopped and picked us up, we would stop a few more times and pick up more kids. Then it was off to the school.

The school was named after the 31^st President of the United States. That’s Herbert Hoover if you don’t know. He was the President from 1929 to 1933. The school was located in the next town north. It was 6 miles and about 15 minutes away.

On the bus trip, there were some kids that talked non-stop with each other. I always kept quiet. Every once in a while, I would talk to a girl.

The bus would go down the street named after the junior high mascot (Hawk) and pull up to the area where the buses emptied. It was called the bus loop.

As we disembarked, we went to our lockers. Most people stored their books and notebooks in their locker. You had a lock with a turning mechanism. You memorized your lock combination. On a few occasions I forgot my combination but then I remembered just in time.

You always had time before your first class. There was a courtyard area inside the school where you could congregate. There were more lockers there. Over the three years I was there, my locker was located in two different locations.

It was almost time for the first class and I noticed a kid I knew. I stopped to talk to him. He was standing up against a wall with a lot of other kids. A few minutes passed and it was time to go to class. I followed him and the rest of the kids into the library. It was only a few steps away from where we were.

As you walked into the library, the circulation desk was off to your left. I think offices were off to the right. It opened up into a large area where the books were on shelves toward the back of the room. In the middle were tables and chairs. Each table had a large area that had a blocking mechanism so you couldn’t see who was working on the other side. You see these at public libraries all the time these days.

I took a seat and started listening to the teacher talk about what was going to happen. It was the final exam. I noticed another teacher or assistant approaching me.

This is what happened next: (I don’t remember what she actually said but this is close)

Teacher: “Excuse me. Are you in the right class?”

Me: “Oh. No.”

I quickly ran out of there and down the hallway. My class was right where I had entered the building after getting off the bus. It was right around the corner.

As I opened the door, all the kids were seated at their desk and the teacher was handing out the final exam. She had already done the roll call. I sat down and she gave me the test. I was out of breath and wondering what the hell I was doing in that library. Talk about a brain fade. It took me a while to get my composure back to take that test.

Do I remember who that kid was I was talking to? Nope. Do I remember the class I was taking? I think it was English. And who was the teacher? Who knows. Actually, I can remember what she looked like and if I really thought about it, I may be able to come up with a name. I know she had short, curly blonde hair and was in her forties. If I looked at my yearbook, I could tell you. But who looks at those after so many years.

Conclusion

Apparently you don’t have to be OLD to not remember where you are. Even at a young age you can screw up. I still wonder what I was thinking. I probably thought he was in my class. Obviously, it wasn’t that class though.

Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to support my writing.

Until next time, happy reading!

-Matt