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PERSONAL ESSAY | MINIMALIST | MEMOIR
About High School and That Blue Jacket With Our Logo
I swore that I’d never go back
I always swore I’d never return, but here I am, staring at the big double front doors of my old high school.
This place stirs up first-day butterflies mixed with another feeling. Maybe anxiety? Obsession?
The love of my life. He was handsome in the blue jacket with our school logo. He’d drape it over my shoulders at outdoor games if I said I was chilly. I loved that one almost-black, naturally wavy curl that fell over his glasses.
My first kiss, the boy I would marry. We broke up two weeks into eleventh grade.
My best friend said, Who cares, there are at least 500 boys through that front door.
She and I skipped Biology and ate chips in the park. I got over him.
I’ll try the door. Maybe it’s unlocked. It’s summertime but the janitor could be here, or the maintenance man.
The maintenance man was cool for an ancient guy. I’m sure he’s dead by now.
The door is unlocked, and I step inside. They haven’t updated the floors after all these years — still dark brown to camouflage the dirt, but super shiny. They reflect the…
