The Locker Room

        I entered silently through the door, noticing the new partition blocking any hormonal preteen boys' wandering eyes from catching a glimpse at the girls. Cautiously I move around the barrier and rested me eyes on an almost unchanged sight. In six years the only thing that had changed was the number of lockers. The paint was the same, the space was the same. And yet everything was smaller. Instead of standing on my tiptoes to reach the top of a locker, I could now easily see over the top. Instinctively I moved towards the bathroom. The unused shower stalls were all there and in tact, and the last stall on the left was still being used as a makeshift maintenance closet. The row of hooks on the right, just about at my eye level, still had the same Christmas stocking sticker next to each hook. Then I happened upon the toilet stalls. I entered the one I always used to sit in, where I'd cry everyday after the boys made fun of me in gym because of the way I ran, swam, threw a ball. All the graffiti on the off-white interior had been painted over in the same puke orange color as the rest of the locker room. I stood on the toilet and hoisted myself onto the little ledge next to the window. I curled up into a fetal position and watched the world pass by through the window. All of a sudden I was 12 again with a tear stained face and dirty gym clothes. Feeling disturbed, I closed my eyes and watched myself, completely transformed into a crying 12 year old, lift open the window next to which I sat. I opened the window and let the breeze that escaped under a glass panel hit my grubby sneakers. I placed my fingers beneath the panel and leaned back so I could swing it open, but the panel was large and I almost fell backwards and hit my head on the metal toilet paper dispenser. I swung the panel upwards quickly and paused for a moment, regaining my breath and allowing my heart to slow. The breeze hit my face and started to dry my tears. It was then I heard the door swing open and the chatter of the girls grow increasingly louder. Panicking, I quickly swung my legs over to the other side of the window ledge and lowered the window behind me. I looked around, my heart pounding once again. Gently I lowered myself to the ground and started down the street. I hoped my sneakers could carry me home.

        My eyes snapped open. I had fallen asleep on the ledge. I lowered myself to the tiled ground of the bathroom stall and paused for a moment to wipe my eyes and tie my sneakers. I opened the stall and walked out and placed my hands on the vomit orange door. I took a deep breath and pushed my way outside. And when the door shut behind me, I was once again 18, shaking my head, full of memories.