The back of my hand
Web Surfing | Cheyenne Manring | Digital
The Back of My Hand by Peyton Bolt
Nowadays this building seems as familiar to me as my own house. This has not always been the case, however. The multicolored tile, the hallway walls decorated with dazzling posters for every club and activity you could think of, the thousands of peers roaming at every moment. I feel I know each and every one of their names, but I probably have only met a quarter of them. Who could have guessed that I would know this school like the back of my hand after just a few years? I used to think of this place like a maze. A never-ending maze, heavily trafficked.
Each year another 500 people discover this school, but they don’t know anything about it until a year or so later. They are told that there is a pool on the roof. “A pool? On the roof? No way,” wonder the naive freshmen. I, for instance, followed the student guide through the winding hallways and past classroom after classroom like a confused puppy, on my orientation day. It’s funny to think about it now, because it looks completely different. The building looks different now. Maybe because I’m a half-an-inch taller or maybe because I know this building now. I know the people now.
Unlike Mark Twain and his river, the more I have become familiar with this school, the more details I seem to notice. Above the main entrance, grand golden letters spell out “BETHESDA-CHEVY CHASE” as if upon a trophy. The Elvis painting on the first floor, the very many cockroaches that skitter across the floors and eventually surrender to the nonsensical climate. Each one bellied-up in a crevice - they are much too weak for this place. I notice the water leaks in the basement restroom that drip from the ceiling to the toilet. The abandoned hall passes that litter the bathrooms, and I can distinguish the different kinds of desks and chairs that we have. I notice the air, how it is different from outside and how it makes me sneeze. This is no simple place. In fact, one may only be entirely confident in their navigation skills in the second week of their senior year. This building stands tall and disfigured on the most urban high school campus in the county. It looks daunting from outside. Alas, on the inside, it’s much more disorienting. But you get used to it at some point.
