Drumming my nails on the tables situated in room 605, at the announcement of the day’s task, the private “Spotify Walter Bowne Alt Jams” concert came to a halt, evoking silent cheers from my listening peers.

Embarking upon a quiet observation as a class, we would be studying the very space we learned within and traveled to six hours a day and five days a week. Our first stop of the journey was a courtyard, casted in the warm light of the morning sun.

I sat upon one of two unfinished wood benches, where one was prone to slender splinters in their exposed skin, that were situated along the perimeter of land a gazebo was placed inside.

A tall tree hovered over the small building, providing shade in the sunset when the blazing star escaped for the night in the west. The tree was the shape of a wishbone, a reminder of the fortune we all possess, somewhat a dictation of our futures beyond freewill.

Hugging the two uncomfortable benches on either side of me were concrete planters. Only encompassing a light layer of mulch and rock, they were devoid of life and of their very purpose– to be a home for nature. Our high school education is reminiscent of the planters, some used the opportunity to harvest and blossom growth with fervor, spending hours gardening their college application to the most beautiful, eye catching begonias.

Others however, poured some mulch and threw in a few rocks to their cauldron, brewing nothing more than passing grades and little visible effort. Like the passionate gardeners of Eastern, a sparse collection of vibrant mustard yellow flowers towered a small landscape of shorter plant growth ahead of me. While the plants below still held admirable beauty, the flowers emitted a different aroma of intricacy, individuality, and allurement in the sea of bevy greenery. 

Moving on from the fresh air, we relocated to the halls of the building. As I ambled through the familiar corridors, my eye caught the light reflecting and gleaming on the matte surface of the festively colored blue and red lockers lining the walls.

In the background a low humming noise set the backdrop for the quiet hushed talking and shuffling of the group of observers. Passing by an unidentified classroom, my ears tuned to the music playing inside, the only sign of life in an otherwise empty labyrinth.

The school during class time gave off an eerie feeling without the entirety of the undergraduate energy of the institution, which usually teemed with adolescent bodies. This odd vibe was only accentuated as we reached a passage to the Glass Hallway. Parallel to an entrance to the ETV news studio was a short pathway carved into the walls, the end beholding a dark powder blue door.

As I examined the door labeled ‘Health Classroom,’ a loud clinking noise resembling work with metal echoed against the white painted barriers. Ironically, it made this chunk of the building mirror the mood of a jail. The clangor in combination with the dark, opaque window on the mysterious threshold of a room I had never traversed prior formulated the abnormal ambiance. Upon soon finishing the brief tour, the potential narnia masked behind the blank door stayed at the forefront of my mind, forever piquing my interest.