Purgatory

I suddenly woke up to light peering through my window, but it wasn’t a new day. It was the same day as yesterday. And the same day as the day before that. I turn around in my bed, pulling the comforter over my face. Eventually, I’ll get out of bed when my Mom gently knocks on my door. She'll end up pleading with me to get out of bed. Then, I’ll drive to school and show up a few minutes late. Between periods, I’ll slowly walk to my next class in a trance-like state. While everyone around me is joking with friends or trying to get last-minute homework done, I’ll just walk past at a slightly slower than normal rate. Why rush to class when my teachers don’t notice me anyway?

Each class is unique in their own way, but no class ever changes. I’ll start with gym, destined to be the last to finish my laps. Of course, our class has an odd number of students, so when we do partner work the teacher will have to pick a pair for me to join. Then, we’ll finish with a sport that I unmistakably suck at. Tennis, football, basketball—it doesn’t matter. I’ll always be the one to not get the ball over the net or miss the basket with an embarrassingly lackluster performance. After gym I’ll head down the hall to English. We’ll undoubtedly be sidetracked by the teacher, Mr. Franz, who loves to spend time showing us the different national parks he’s visited. Next is orchestra, where I’ll be ridiculed for being a beat behind, judged for playing a note too flat, or reprimanded for not being good enough. And it’s not my fellow students; no, they couldn’t give a shit. It’s the orchestra director, berating me for not being more of a role model to the underclassmen. It doesn’t matter that last year I was invited to play in the state orchestra or that I got a perfect score on my district-wide solo because I’m not good enough and I never have been. So now I don’t practice anymore. I don’t try to keep up and follow the rhythm. I’m over it. Next period is lunch. I’ll go to the library and reserve a study room so that I don’t have to be seen eating alone in the cafeteria.

Chemistry is my next class. It's your standard, run-of-the-mill class that's so boring you start falling asleep. I'll sit in the back of the class, pretending to take notes. Eventually, I give up on taking notes and stare at nothing instead. I’m not daydreaming; I’m not even thinking. My mind is blank. It feels like perpetual boredom. Calculus is a tolerable class because I can at least try and distract myself by attempting to figure out derivates and logarithms. I'll end up becoming frustrated though, because when the teacher calls on me I have no idea what to say. I'm completely behind the rest of the class. Embarrassed, I'll head to my last class of the day: World History. The teacher at least tries to make it a little more interesting, but my class is full of popular kids who love to joke around obnoxiously throughout class. The teacher loves it and acts like they're BFFs with the popular kids because they peaked in high school. Maybe I’ll see a few people throughout the day who are friendly to me, who might even consider me friends. But we don’t have classes together, never have time to hang out after school together, can’t find time to text each other. I could consider inviting them to do something, but then the day would change. And I wouldn’t know what to expect.

When the final bell of the day rings, though, I don’t stick to my usual lackluster pace. I speed walk down two flights of stairs, almost running to my car to beat the after-school traffic. If you’ve never had to get out of a parking lot full of hundreds of high school students, consider yourself lucky. Imagine  an anxiety-inducing race to leave the parking lot before a mob of arrogant, pompous sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds speed, blow past stop signs, and honk if the person in front of them isn’t driving at least ten miles over the speed limit. 

Maybe my descriptions seem short and sweet. Sure, it might suck being last doing laps, but at least it’s over quick.

That’s wrong. It’s never quick. It’s an eternity of being able to see how far behind the rest of the class you are. It’s an eternity of watching the clock in the corner of the room, waiting for class to be over just so you can do the same thing for five more classes. Sometimes, getting from class to class feels like an eternity itself. Knowing that there are five more hours of perpetual boredom left makes me feel a weight pulling down my chest until I want to curl up in a ball in the middle of the hallway.

There’s no climax to this story. No rising action, falling action, or conclusion. This might not even be considered a story. That’s because it’s about a never-ending day that always stays the same, always feels the same, and always is the same. It makes me realize that hours and minutes and seconds don’t matter. Grades and GPAs and exams don’t matter. I’ll wake up, go to school, drive home and spend the night watching Netflix in a zombie-like state, go to bed, and wake up again. I don't do any after-school activities. I tried to do soccer freshman year, but I was so bad at running that I quit sophomore year. Being senior year, it feels pointless to join any clubs now. I'm too exhausted after school to do anything useful. It's hilarious because I spent all day at school being bored to the point of misery, but by the time I come home I feel like I just ran a marathon.

For now, I’ll stay in bed a little longer. The day never ends anyway.