I had trouble writing a poem this morning. Something about the way I woke up just seemed off for some reason.

Maybe it was the larger-than-usual gap in the curtains. It had woken me up a few minutes earlier than my usual alarm. Maybe it was something else. It made me feel like writing something a little deeper than usual.

Anyhow, what I eventually came up with was this: 

There are times in life you’d rather stay down,

Surrender instead of getting back on your feet.

But in the end, even the act of moving on

Is one of life’s greatest challenges, beat.

As I finished writing the last word on the notebook page, my bedroom clock silently called. I turned around in my chair. 6:59.

I felt myself quickly get up from my seated position, grab my backpack, and head out my bedroom door. I closed it behind me a little too quickly and made it slam.

Right on cue, the voice of my mother rang through the house. It seemed to come from both nowhere and everywhere. “Colin! Stop slamming doors! Don’t—”

“Sorry!” I called back, cutting her off.

I didn’t stick around for any possible response. I had already walked through the main hallway and out the front door. I made sure to close it slowly, softly letting the handle click back into place as I let go. 

The air was cold, almost windy in its chilly stillness. I felt myself jolt fully awake. A deep exhale escaped my mouth. I grabbed my backpack straps comfortingly before I set out. 

Everything everywhere was green and growing. That was, of course, the way it should be. There hadn’t been any snow this winter. Instead, everything had just been dead and bare for about four months. Even the pines had lost most of their needles.

Now, it was finally beginning to feel like March for a change. Almost all the trees and leaves wore layers of green that made the walk to school actually enjoyable for once.

In what felt like a blink of an eye, I was already standing in front of Olive Pass High School. All of the trees here were still leafless, waiting for some growth to happen. If it was going to come at all. 

Just like any other day, I walked up to the A building. That was where the main auditorium and gym were. I needed to get to the B building, which stood right behind it.

There were people everywhere. Walking, chatting, laughing. Doing what high schoolers couldn’t seem to stop doing. The noises of dozens of other students fell on everything like a downpour of endless rain.

I tried to move as quickly as I could through the crowds, dodging someone running past here and moving around a clump of laughing kids there.

I tried not to pay too much attention to any of the people. Although most of them hopefully didn’t even know my name, the chance for an unpleasant meeting was still there.

I spotted Ben Carson and Jack Evens among their large group of athletic friends. They were just hanging around. Some of them punched each other in what was clearly meant to be a friendly move. The last thing I wanted was for that to happen to me, friendly or not.

Soon enough, I made it all the way to B140, Mrs. Allen’s room. The hallway here was mostly deserted. Class didn’t start for — I looked up at a nearby clock — about six minutes or so. 

I grabbed the handle for the classroom door and turned it. Or rather, tried to. A small moment of surprise washed over me as I quickly realized that the classroom was locked. Mrs. Allen never locked her room before class. What could possibly cause this break in routine?

I looked inside through the small glass window on the door. I saw a dark space with no one in it. How odd. Class started in five minutes. Was Mrs. Allen late? Would class be canceled?

“Hup, excuse me,” a voice said.

I turned around and saw a strange man. He wore a casual plaid shirt and khaki pants. He wore glasses, had wavy hair almost to his shoulders, and looked in his late twenties or so.

I instinctively backed away from the door.

“You in Mrs. Allen’s class?” the man asked, as he pulled out a key and unlocked the classroom.

Yes. 

And then, realizing I hadn’t actually given a physical or verbal answer, I quickly nodded.

“Nice,” the man said.

He stood back from the now open classroom door and gestured for me to enter. I did so, a little on edge.

Is Mrs. Allen sick, or something? I said it a couple times inside my head before speaking.

Is Mrs. Allen sick, or something?

“Is Mrs. Allen sick, or something?”

“Something like that,” the man said. He walked over and switched on the lights. “Or I think she might just be taking the day off. I’d have to read her notes again…”

A loud, clanging noise suddenly sounded. It signaled the five-minute mark until class officially started for the day. Even though it was a broadcast, the school still used a recording of one of those old-style metallic bells. You could almost hear the rust mixed in with the grainy quality of the recording.

I sat down in my seat, the one in the front corner, close to both the door and the front of the classroom. Since I'd been the first person to show up on the first day of school, Mrs. Allen had let me choose my seat. I’d refused to give it up for the entire school year so far, guarding it carefully. Not that I’d had any competition, or anything. 

“Hey, what’s your name?" the man asked. "Might as well mark you off on the attendance now, since you’re here.”

“Uh...” For a moment, my mouth seemed to lag. I hadn’t expected to be asked something so directly. “Colin,” I heard myself say. 

“Richardson?” the man said, reading a piece of paper that must have been the attendance form.

“Yeah,” I said.

The sound of the door swinging open started the slow trickle of other students into the class. I tried to look wrapped up in my own thoughts. But really, I was focused on the people as they entered the room, passed my desk, and sat down in their own seats in the classroom.

None of them interacted with me negatively, or at all, for which I was grateful. It was too early in the morning for anything like that. 

Before long, the bell rang again. Now the classroom was filled with students.

“Hey, Mrs. Allen’s absent today, so I’ll be filling in for the day. You can call me Mr. McKilven, or just Mr. M.” He wrote his name on the whiteboard with a faded expo marker. “So, this is AP English, right? Let’s see here…” He read a piece of paper for a moment. “All right, so it looks like you’re supposed to finish analyzing the Robert Frost poem you’ve been working on. Then you can work on any other work for this class for the rest of the period.”

Everyone else started talking to everyone else. Some were working on the assignment. Most weren’t.

I sat back in my chair. I had already finished the poem worksheet, and I didn’t have any other work. I guess anyone else would’ve considered it a stroke of luck.

“You all good?” said Mr. M, approaching my desk. 

“Yeah, yeah,” I heard myself say. “I just, uh, already finished all the work, and so, you know…”

“Ah, I see.” Mr. M gave a kindly grin.

I wondered what kind of circumstances would lead someone to become a high school substitute teacher and still keep a cheerful outlook on life.

“Well, relax, chill," he said. "You’re all set.”

Mr. M then walked back to the front of the room, sat down, and began reading a paperback novel. It was called The Interesting Something Or Other. I couldn’t read the whole title from where I was, as his hand blocked most of the cover.

“Hey, did you finish?”

The voice came from my left, which was unusual. My head whirled around in that direction.

“What’d you get for number five?” 

It was Abigail Eatons, who sat at the desk directly next to me. Today, she was wearing a lime green sweater that I couldn’t help but think was a little too close to neon. Her brilliant green eyes looked about as acidic as her sweater.

I suddenly realized I hadn't answered her question.

“Uh,” I managed to say. “I don’t have it out, let me—” I reached into my backpack, flipping through papers until I found the assignment. “Here.” I slid the assignment across my desk.

Abigail looked surprised, like she hadn’t been asking me at all. “Oh, I wasn’t…” 

I suddenly felt what it must feel like for a houseplant to wilt.

But she leaned over to read the answer, squinting. After a moment, she said, “Cool. Thanks.”

And just like that, the conversation ended. 

The silence that filled the following moment suddenly became overwhelming. It felt like I was in the vacuum of space, where no sound is ever heard.

Was there something else that was supposed to happen? Why did the mood feel so… so lacking, like there was something important missing?

I checked my watch as I approached the park. 3:11. It was pretty good timing. I’d walked faster than usual.

Everything was still warm shades of green and brown, along with the dirt path that went into the forest. The painted green sign, which read "Olive Ridge Park," had a light blue outline that made it stand out from everything else. But it somehow seemed to fit in with its surroundings.

I took my usual route, staying on the main path until I reached the first bench. Then I went onto the left path up the hill.

Usually I took in the beauty of my surroundings as much as I could, but today I found my mind wandering somewhere else. It was in a place of vague feelings that couldn’t really be put into specific words. The kind of feelings that drive one to wander without really knowing why.

Before I knew it, I found myself at the stump. I had to stop and look at it for a moment before realizing I had already walked this far. What was up with me today? Why was I so… out of the world and inside my head?

The stump was from an ancient cedar, cut down long ago. It was about six feet wide, a deep brown, and had been the largest tree around when it had still been a tree. Time had weathered it down, and now all of its edges were relatively smooth. A small section of it was taller than the rest, creating a small plateau on its left side. That was where I usually liked to sit.

I slid my backpack off, dropped it at the base of the stump, then sat down on the raised part of it. 

There was something else on the stump, which was another reason I always liked sitting there. Out of the ancient remnant, a small sapling was growing up through the wood.

It was only about a foot high, and had only two real branches. But it was already growing little needles of its own. It was so small and innocent, so beautiful in an untouched sort of way, like the first buds on a tree in spring. Except this cycle had taken years to restart anew.

I turned away from the tree and looked out over the forest. The air wasn’t very cold, but I sat back and put my legs on the stump, bent so they were standing directly in front of me. I wrapped my arms around them. I sat there for a moment, simply watching the trees waving back and forth in the gentle wind.

Suddenly, all of the gorgeous greenery glowing in the afternoon light turned into a backdrop. A strange stillness and quiet seemed to surround me. It wasn’t a feeling I’d ever felt before, or at least not often enough to clearly remember it. 

I was suddenly aware of how isolated I was, in that moment. 

I was the only person there for a mile or so, at least. But… there was something else, too. 

I was the only person who knew I was there.

I frowned as I tried to think. Being alone couldn’t be the problem. It couldn't be. I was alone all the time, after all. Even when I was surrounded by other people. And I never felt… lonely. Why would I now? There was no reason I should. I had always gotten by fine by myself. 

I clutched my legs a little tighter and rested my chin on my knees, looking over the greens of the trees.

I woke up earlier than my alarm, and was able to turn it off before it blared. I lay there for a moment, looking up at the dimly-lit ceiling from under my blanket. I wasn't sure what was keeping me from getting up.

After an instant and an eternity, I pulled my covers off in a sweeping motion and slid out of bed. After getting dressed, I sat down at my desk, racking my brain for a muse. I wrote down the poem, a small part of me unsure of what it really meant:

Sometimes life is like a gentle wind,

Sometimes sharp, sometimes cold & chill.

And sometimes we chose to keep walking,

Knowing that whatever happens, will.

I turned and looked at my bedroom clock. 7:01.

I quickly grabbed my backpack from the foot of my bed. I opened my door, passed through it, and shut it closed.

“Colin! Don’t slam doors! Don’t even—” my mother called.

“Sorry!” I answered.

My face felt the chill morning air as I walked out the front door. I grabbed onto my backpack straps, inhaled a deep breath of the cold, then set out across the front lawn.

I walked across the street to the sidewalk, the firm cement feeling stiff beneath my feet. I walked up to the front of Olive Pass High School, the brick buildings almost sinking into the ground. I walked through the chattering crowds to the B building, where people ran and shouted and talked. I walked down the hallway to B140, where the only noise was my own footsteps. I walked up to the door, which was open. 

The classroom lights were already on. Mr. M was already inside, sitting down at the desk. 

“Oh, hey, Colin!” he said, looking up from his novel. “Early again, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” I heard myself say, nodding at the same time. 

“Well, it’s good to be punctual, you know. Good to know how to prioritize yourself,” Mr. M said.

I didn’t quite know how to respond to this, let alone speak an answer out loud. Mr. M looked back at his page and quiet came to the room once more. The task at hand returned to my mind.

Hello.

No, that’s not it.

Hello.

Ah, not quite.

Hello.

Soon enough, the clang of the morning bell gave a five-minute warning to the several thousand teenagers nearby. Students began to file into the classroom.

Abigail was one of the last stragglers to enter through the door. As the final bell announced the start of the morning, she quickly sat down in her seat.

“Hello,” I said.

“Oh, uh... Hi,” she said. Then she turned away to fish something out of her backpack.

She didn’t turn back around in my direction. Instead she started chatting with the person in the next seat over, Vanessa Toler. From what I’d heard, the two of them were in the same core friend group. Still, the feeling in my mind wasn’t exactly pleasant. It was like I’d just taken too big of a bite of something sour and then tried to swallow it anyway. 

“All right!” Mr. M called across the classroom, silencing most of the side conversations. “As you can see, Mrs. Allen is still out, so I’m still here. Today, you guys are going to…”

“Hey, we still on for after school?” whispered Vanessa.

“Yeah, Ben doesn’t have practice today,” said Abigail.

“After school?” The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Immediately I knew I’d made a mistake. Of course I hadn’t been included in the conversation.

Abigail and Vanessa both looked at me, which was a new experience.

“Oh,” said Abigail, hesitantly. “Well—”

“Sorry,” I said, reflexively.

“No, no,” said Abigail in a way that seemed reassuring. Hopefully it was, anyway. “You just… don’t usually talk.”

It was hard to tell whether her view of me was positive or not. 

“We’re just gonna, you know, hang out behind the gym after school. That’s all," Abigail said.

She turned away and looked to the front of the classroom. After all, there was still an actively speaking teacher. 

A strange force seemed to tug my spirits upward. Had that been… an invitation? All the negative thoughts seemed to leave me. 

Something to look forward to at last.

“So… who are you again?”

“Uh… Colin.” Every time I said it I felt a little less sure, like even my name could be damaged by the awkwardness.

“Ben, knock it off,” said Abigail in clipped tones. But she quickly fell silent herself.

Vanessa, who had been scrolling through her phone for the past five minutes, looked up. Upon making unexpected eye contact with me, she quickly looked back to the screen. 

Jack was leaning against the building's wall. He slid down it until he was sitting down and mindlessly stared off into the distance. He only looked once at me before going back to his faraway focus.

None of them spoke to each other. Or to me.

Clearly, these people needed some more excitement in their lives.

What are you guys doing tomorrow?

I mean, the scenario was a little disappointing, to say the least. But it was something. Maybe I was on my way to turning this whole thing around. The feeling of being around other people like this was overwhelming, exciting in a strange way.

What are you guys doing tomorrow? 

I checked my watch. 3:09. I guessed I’d be a few minutes late getting to the park. 

What are you guys doing tomorrow?

“What are, uh, you guys doing tomorrow?” I said, pursing my lips afterward.

There was a moment of awkward silence in the following few moments. Maybe they were all just trying to think.

“I mean, the mall,” said Abigail, not looking at me, “But—”

Vanessa suddenly kicked her hard in the shin, clearly trying and failing to be subtle. It was odd, to say the least. I couldn’t help but flinch at the action. It looked like it hurt, too.

“The mall?” The question came out of my mouth, even though I’d meant it as a statement.

I nodded to move past it, then looked at my watch again as I backed away. It wasn’t supposed to rain until later, so I’d spend some good time in the forest before the storm came.