The Mystery Behind School

A minute combination of Hydrogen and Oxygen formed on my forehead as if my eyebrows took a shower. A growing buzz grew beside me as the flame red numbers beat in sync with the sound. It was time to go to school. I tossed the grey cover over me and sat up in my bed, I officially woke up when my feet kissed the cool wooden floor. I glanced over to my closet and a small packet of happiness crept across my face. My new Raptor 7’s gleamed from the New York sun that shot through our roof, it was nice. I was different; I wasn’t a “2chainzz” kind of different but more of a Trinidad James different, some people didn’t seem to fathom the amount of swagger in my walk that made me dip or the New York sound effect that smothered my vocal chords; so they just mocked me. Collecting shoes had been my passion and my way of expressing myself since I got my first pair. I was able to write on them and color them depending on my mood and how I felt. I fell in love with the idea at age six, a brand new pair of Nike Air Force One’s greeted my eyes as I woke up on Christmas morning, they were my journal! Pictures and ideas were to my shoe what clouds are to the sky. As I trudged over to my closet and picked out my clothes for today, numerous scenes from my week littered my mind. My face grimaced as I remember being slammed into the locker, the dark purple callous underneath my eye left its reminder of that event. Frankly, I hated school. I tried not to but it just didn’t seem to work, it was like trying to like broccoli because its good for you, but the taste is horrible. The same children that poured though the hallway were the same ones that made no attempt to be nice. My shoes were my friends. I picked up my white out Jordan Raptor 7’s, and grabbed the markers that held the key to my words and trudged out of my room. When Momma heard my footsteps she shouted “Boy, whatchu want for breakfast?!” I cracked a smile while brushing my hair and slid a nonchalant “Nothin’” her way. I waited for bus #14 to ride through Bedstuy, NY; it arrived. I could see the ignorance flush through the bus’ doors and I could feel the tension of the boys that misunderstood who I was. I waited for the pellets of attacks to roll on my back. Nothing. I sat down next to this girl Sierra, she was reading this book my English teacher mentioned once or twice. In Math the level of boredom that danced across my eyelids was dangerously growing, I did what I normally do when I need to be entertained. I write stories. I took off my left shoe and uncapped my purple marker, I used pictures to tell my story and began to write. The instant the ink dipped onto my shoe a piercing scream went through the room and the faces of little black boys across the room looked as if someone took their nose and they were trying to smell without it. The lunch bell sounded like trumpets signaling a king’s arrival and class doors shot open and children spewed like a hunched over athlete vomiting as a result of gulping Gatorade after running 3000 meters. I walked out of my class expecting the everyday normal. Three senior high boys rushed me and I fell onto the cold dirt-ridden floor. My shoes were taken, along with my wallet, and my bag thrown throughout the hallway. The boys took off as usual, I expected to get my things back worse than before at roughly 2:15. When I saw the security guard turn the corner, I breathed a sigh of relief. This was just another day, accepting what I shouldn’t.