The First Mornings

Do you remember elementary school? Mine was called Martinschule. It had a chest-high brick wall in the front which, at that time, I thought was the tallest wall in our town. The winter breaks were long, even though they felt like only a couple of days. They stretched from before Christmas to maybe the second week of each new year. I was on the bus today, thinking about that. 

The first day at school after the break was always awkward. An unknown classroom in a foreign corridor, strange chairs attached to foreign tables. An unfamiliar view on the utterly familiar schoolyard. We knew every corner of it, every crack in the concrete, every tree and every bush that was ever planted. It was our turf, our territory. Every year we made sure of that. 

The first mornings were odd. Someone would always bust in five minutes late, busy catching his breath. He'd explain himself. Sorry, I forgot that we switched class rooms. Everyone would laugh, knowing that the same thing could've happened to him, too. Soon we'd get used to the new walls, the board, the way the sun moved along the ceiling, until finally the bell rang.