Back to My High School, My Home

MORRISTOWN, N.J.–I parked in the lot hugging the school, not the one stories below that I many a time had hiked from every morning. Without a bent back from my book bag, I opened the door to a place I know so well. And then I signed in as a visitor.

Proceeding with my mission for this morning, I walked up the two flights to the guidance counselor’s office as an outsider. The plum-colored skirt I wore did not match the plaid scurrying through the stairwell. My heels clicking on the hard steps did not sound like the flats I found around me. The giggles and chitchat I heard did not come from my mouth, but they sounded phenomenally familiar. My brown tights could never compete with their navy blue knees socks in a fashion show. This is my home. (more…)