On My Way to School- principle's house

As I walked to school that morning, I found it ironic that I had to pass first the principle's home, then the cemetary before finally getting to school. I wasnt sure if this held some sort of strange symbolism, but it was either that or quite a coincidence.



The air outside was heavy with the impending storm approaching. On the way out the door I saw my sister watching the local news. They were saying something about rain and such, but nothing uncommon. In the back of my mind were the claims made about people being abducted by aliens during the storms. I laughed at the idea, knowing that it was crazy; not just alien abduction, but why they would only happen during a storm. If aliens really did have all that tehnology, why would they only use it during weather severe enough to drive a two-by-four through a tree? There were a lot of those rumors that I knew better than to believe.



The wind picked up in small gusts and I could feel the variations in the temperature. I kept walking though. It wasn;t like the tornado sirens would be sounding. At least, not for a few hours. If a tornado did come, maybe I wouldn't have to deal with another day at school. Maybe it would destroy the school. The thought brought a smile to my face as I kicked a pebble out of my way, aiming it at the principle's house coming up.


The principle's home was plain enough. It did nothing to stand out. The large front yard was mostly green grass, spotted with brown patches and weeds. There were a few bushes along the street and then some more tucked up next to the home. The one story home was almost exclusively red brick on the front. A few windows, one to the living room and ane to the kitchen, were on either side of the front door. White eaves hung over the top of the brick walls. A reasonably-sized chimney stuck out on the side of the home where the living room was. The driveway connected the street in the front to the garage, where a weathered wooden door hung.


One lone maple tree stood in the middle of the front yard, about thirty feet from both curb and home. The tree stood tall, maybe forty or fifty feet, offering a small umbrella of protection to the home below its branches. A few strands of toilet paper could be seen near the top, waving like flags of victory for the perpettrators, and symblizing defeat for those who lived within. Rumor had it that some students in the physics department had modified a potato gun enough to shoot toilet paper that high. Unfortunately, the gun was pretty loud and they only had one or two shots before the principle or his wife would come out of their home yelling about calling the police.




Despite its unwelcomed toilet paper decorations, it was a comfortable-looking home, much to my envy. Many times I had imagined my family in that home. Well, my family with my mom; a complete family. We could huddle by the fire at night when it was cold, exchanging wonderful stories of our adventures that day. I could see us sitting as a family, at the dinner table, enjoying the peace of each other's company. It seems like such a waste for the cold-hearted principle and his won't-ever-die wife to occupy it. I don't really remember my mother too much. I have a picture of her holding me as a baby, but the pciture seems more of strangers than mother and child.





The air conditioner at the back of the home turned on, buzzing loudly. I snapped back to reality. It was then that I could feel the humidity in the air, reminding me that it was going to be another hot and humid day; and the sun was barely up over the rooftops. Even if we were luky, the storm coming would offer rain, not so much relief from the temperatures.





"Some day," I thought. "Some day I'll be able to get out of this hole of a town." Maybe move someplace wonderful, just anywhere else. College might be able to get me away. My dad refused to move anywhere. He would rather not have a job and live off food stamps and other people's charity than leave. He said it was for my own good. Whatever. I heard that San Diego was nice.





I continued my walk to the corner of 19th street then rounded another corner towards the school. As I neared the cemetary, the sidewalk seemed to become more and more worn. The cracks became larger. The split ends of the sidewalk grew apart, one peaking while the other remained low. I had tripped more than once on that stretch of sidewalk while daydreaming. I knew now that the cracks were because of things like tree roots and expansion and contraction from temperatures, but when I was a little kid, my sister told me, "It's cracked so much around the cemetary because the dead bodies are pushing up against the ground, trying to get out." Luckily I wised up before high school hit so I wasn't as uncomfortable with cracks in the sidewalk. Sine most students did not walk on that side of the street, the seclusion was actually quite comforting.





By this time, a few other students could be seen in front and behind me. No one that I really knew. No one that really wanted to know me. At least we agreed on something. Half a block in front me, a group of ninth graders laughed at their friend who tripped and fell, probably on one of the cracks. I chuckled to myself. I didn't feel so bad; he had probably laughed at me more than once without my knowing.