6:00 A.M. came earlier than usual on Thursday, September 9th. The dreary weather outside seemed like an all-too obvious omen for the day ahead. Due to the abysmal combination of pouring rain and clueless parents, the drive from my house in Berlin, which normally takes fifteen minutes, took nearly fifty minutes. As I walked up to the front of Eastern, my senior year was officially underway.

   The extensive traffic had already made me miss TIR, so off to choir it was. Within four or five minutes of class, I realized that I underestimated the joy in-person interaction in the classroom would bring me. 

   I had seen a lot of my friends over the summer, but something about actually being in school together made me feel relieved, and even comforted. Between seeing the Class of 2020 lose most of their senior year to witnessing the Class of 2021 get a fraction of a normal year, I had come to realize one thing; this year was not promised. To be fair, the rest of the year still isn’t guaranteed, but being in-person on the first day of school gives me hope that this school year will be different, dare I say even special.

   Now that I’ve let out my optimism, there are clearly some glaring negatives to this school year.

   Aside from the masks, the biggest complaint amongst Eastern students (myself included) has to be the split lunch. Obviously I can’t speak for everyone, but the question of “who is gonna be at my lunch today?” has certainly permeated my mind throughout most mornings. Coming from someone who doesn’t have that many friends, the idea of sitting alone at lunch is certainly daunting. Nonetheless, if eating food alone in the courtyard is my biggest fear about this year, I’d say I have it pretty good.

   This year still isn’t guaranteed.

   However, that’s not to say that the first week of school hasn’t gotten me excited for the upcoming months. At the least, my senior year will be something I look back on for years to come. One day, I’ll either be able to tell the story of a triumph over a year and a half of isolation, or the tragedy of another grade’s senior year whittled down to a shadow of what it could’ve been.

   Only time will tell which version of the story I’ll have.