A Breath of Fresh Air

Once the episode of writing with “concrete nouns” ended, and we spoke about how Mr. Bowne confused the color orange with purple (he claims he has dyslexia), I was ready to start writing again and hopefully hit a grand slam. 

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A Breath of Fresh Air

The fresh air lingers more in the gazebo.

The fresh air lingers more in the gazebo.

Adam Saladino '20

The fresh air lingers more in the gazebo.

Adam Saladino '20

Adam Saladino '20

The fresh air lingers more in the gazebo.

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Walking into the normal ice cold room of Walter Bowne, plastered with cheesy Read posters and the legacy of past Voyager writers on the walls, I was ready to get into the routine of writing as if I was part of the high school edition of the New York Times. 

   I put an “x” next to my name to sign in at the computer, second guessing myself if it was in the right slot of the Excel document. 

     Plopping down in one of the cramped maroon seats, Mr. Bowne flicked off the lights to show an absolute classic episode of his Down With Bowne. Maybe it was the dark room or the fact that it was 8:30 in the morning, but I found it hard to stay awake. Investigating the room, I knew that if I gave into my heavy eyes, I could get away with a ten minute power nap, but the volume of the video was too loud. 

     Once the episode of writing with “concrete nouns” ended, and we spoke about how Mr. Bowne confused the color orange with purple (he claims he has dyslexia), I was ready to start writing again and hopefully hit a grand slam. 

   To my surprise, Bowne through a curveball into the mix. With his mint green suit jacket, he explained that today we would switch up the routine. 

     He told us to grab our notebooks because we were going to walk around the school and write down what we see. I was now wide awake and excited because I had done this same activity with teacher of the year winner Dr. Leason last year. 

   We walked into the hall, led by Editor-in-Chief Matt Steinsaltz. 

   The hallways, usually overflowing with students frantically walking to class like wild salmon swimming up a river, were so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Opening the doors to the outside, we walked to the gazebo filled with the names of former staff and students who passed away. I sat down next to Allan Belizaire, who had a questionable fashion sense of high black socks with sandals, into the uncomfortable gazebo. 

     The seat may have been wrenching my back, but I figured anything was better than the maroon seats in Bowne’s arctic room. Looking around the surrounding area, being met with the cool fall breeze and warm morning sun, made me realize the position I was in. 

     Sure, it was just another day at school, but it was a beautiful day. I noticed the dry mulch near the gazebo and the dripping of condensation from the air conditioning unit. I saw the grins of students just happy to be outside. I even noticed a rusty bird bath that I have never seen in my four years at the school. Walking further in the empty halls, my mind drifted to thoughts of the school and how it was made. As I saw the many DECA signs on the walls and lockers decorated with stickers that gave me a peek into the world of the owner, I was suddenly more collected than I was when the period began. 

     The time wandering outside and through the empty school was refreshing. The period was over in a flash. As I walked back into the cold room of 605, I was no longer tired, my eyes were no longer heavy. Rather, I was ready for the next class period with a sense of calmness. The simple, yet effective tool of switching things up in the classroom brought new thoughts into my head and helped me to notice things around the school I never had before.