For a half hour, every school day, for a few months, I
was really happy. A friend and I would go to the drainpipe,
and we would sit, talk, eat our lunches, and listen to my
walkman. It was the perfect place: It was quiet, beautiful,
and it was full of peace. It didn't matter whether it was
cold or hot, somehow you didn't feel anything sitting on
that drainpipe. You would feel the wind on your face, and it
made your face cold, but inside, you felt warm and cozy, and
you almost felt like you couldn't be harmed. There was
something magical about the drainpipe. Maybe it was the fact
that nobody was around except the two of us, and we were
tiny compared to the long grass surrounding us. Then again,
it could just been the freedom of knowing that we were
listening to the walkman that was banned from school, and we
weren't getting caught.
What ever it was, it doesn't matter
because analyzing something takes away the feeling it gives
when you think about it. It was just a great place, and it
made me happy, and I don't know why. That makes it better in
a way, just knowing that it had that power.
Everyday, I would meet with a friend at the drain-
pipe. That is until a teacher found us and told us that
because we didn't have any adult supervision, we couldn't
eat there anymore. It felt terrible. I wanted to stay there.
I had always thought that adult supervision was outdated by
the time we were this old. We had come to this place to get
away from adults and all the other P.C. people in this
world, and now we had to join them again. At...