Going Back

I was standing in the rotunda with a piece of paper in my hand, clutching to it fervently. After eight years in the same building, how could I be holding the only shred of evidence that I had been educated there? My eyes scanned the courses that I had taken, and the grades I had received. I tried to remember how our class schedules were set up, what my plans had been, and how my teachers had always understood me.

It's easy to be a ghost walking through those halls, especially after so many years away. I stared into them empty classrooms: Mr. Sidmore, Mr. Ames, Mr. Borghesani, Mrs. Webber, Mrs. Manos, Mrs. Faust, Mr. Kreiger. These were all names that I had pushed from my mind as I moved on to other things. I resented Ipswich, and they were a part of it, even if they had given me the greatest gift of all.

There were desks that I had sat in, lockers were I had stowed my stuff. For the first time, I wondered about being a teacher. You meet so many students, how does it feel as they move on? At 20, I appreciate what they did for me. Is it requited? Did I bring anything to the table? Did I leave anything behind except a pretty transcript?

I ran my fingers over the white and black piano keys in the choir room, stood on a darkened stage where I had performed. Nobody would know that I had been there, wrapped in the forest green drapery, silently wishing I could thank the walls.

It's good to get closure on things. A 14 year old Ali may have been sickly obsessed with her love life. I've been too busy even to watch myself grow and change. There were times in my journal where I mentioned changing the world. There were times when I defended bands like Metallica, and Atreyu. Atreyu was the warrior who tried to save his world in the Neverending Story. I am not as brave, but I do know that without passion, without my teachers, or the Artspace, I may have never overcome the mellowdrama that consumed my early adolescence.

I'm leaving soon, but instead of denying where I am from, I will be thankful that I am from the North. I will be thankful for my teachers, thankful for Mr. Patch, and for all the perspective that Ipswich and Lowell have provided me with.