The First Day

 

You sit in the crowd, one face amongst many in the air-conditioned hall. Your uniform is impeccable and your dark brown locks are well combed and tamed to perfection for once. Yet, neither will last long if you continue to shift uncomfortably in the unfamiliar skirt or keep tugging nervously at your hair. Your bag is heavy with the unusual weight of your laptop. Your butterfly-like, fluttering hands are still, a greater sign of nerves than any trembling may be.

You feel anxious. You feel small. Many would say that the latter is not a big deal. You are almost always the shortest person in every room you enter (assuming that there is no one there who is more than 3 or 4 years younger than you, that is). But you know to overcome that, to use it to your advantage even. You know to impress when necessary with only your intelligence and sheer force of personality, to let people think you are younger, and then underestimate you. You even enjoy it sometimes. This, however, is quite different. Today, you are small because you are new and unsure.

You both crave and fear being addressed, which is in itself not unusual. You have never liked speaking to other people but there are things you need to know that you fear to ask. You fear that your words may remain stuck in your throat, unable to leave your mouth and that your bitten lips will be unable to curve into a friendly smile.

The hall is almost full. You can feel the anticipation in the air. You shudder when it washes over you. Though the tips of your toes touch solid ground (and in some still rational corner of your mind you bemoan the tall chairs), you are overcome by the peculiar sensation of falling. It feels as though the ground has opened up beneath your feet and gravity is pulling you deeper and deeper. The wind howls in your ears: you will strike at terminal velocity. You shudder again.

The loud clearing of a throat snaps you back to the real world. You turn to the podium and begin to listen to the orientation. Your pen moves across your notebook more under years of instinct than conscious command. You take notes and even ask questions on autopilot. Before you know it, the orientation is over. But the worst has yet to come.

You all are divided into your tutor groups. You will have to interact with actual people now. You swallow past the dryness in your mouth; your teeth worry your already damaged lower lip.

There are ice-breakers. Every student is asked to give their name and a place that they want to visit that begins with the same letter. With newfound courage, or perhaps just out of a lack of options, you say Kepler-452 B. No one reacts. Your heart sinks. You miss your old class, your old friends who would have not only understood but actively tried to one-up you when their turn comes. You are unsure what to do in a class where there is no one like you. The discussion of hobbies does nothing to change your opinion, only emphasises your feelings of otherness. But you cannot, will not, apologise to anyone for your interests nor tailor yourself to appeal to others. Still, a feeling of disappointment persists.

Had you believed in such things, you would have claimed that God or fate or the universe had smiled upon you. As it is, you can say that random chance (or whatever reasoning schools employ in making their time tables) was in your favour. The first actual class would be Physics. You are somewhat concerned of course. You have never had a single good teacher in the four years you studied Physics in school and while self-study has never been an issue, you would rather not listen to another butcher your favourite subject.

For once, you needn’t have worried. You probably don't have the world’s best Physics teacher but he does know his subject (which seems to be surprisingly unusual). As he begins explaining basic topics like units and measurements, you feel yourself relax. The knot of tension somewhere in your stomach starts to ease. It feels as though you have suddenly opened a parachute: you will still land but safely. You realise that even here, in this big new curriculum in a big new school, your classes will be much the same. Making friends will be difficult of course, as it always is, but that has never been your goal in any enterprise you undertook. This feeling only grows through the Chemistry and even Psychology classes. You are shocked to find yourself comfortable even during Spanish (especially considering your previous apprehension regarding the learning of a completely new language).

You do not doubt anymore that you will manage to eventually adapt to the school.

~~~

But reality is never so simple. And even such a common experience is now a luxury you cannot have.

Because: the coronavirus pandemic.