Alas, the dawn after labor day arrived. The clock struck five as my pink bunny alarm clock just about had a fit, quaking so hard it fell off of the stack of notebooks it was perched upon. I suppose this is where I say that I had to drag myself out of bed, but no! I was awake and thriving more than I ever ha……..oh, forget it. I calmly arose out of my slumber to sit up and read the latest issue of National Geographic, lighting the candle on my nightstand as it was the only source of light within reach. While in bed, I always tried to practice a kind of “movement minimalism” with my body as so to not hear the awful screeching of my centuries-old, steel bed frame. High school didn’t start until 7:45, not to mention, I was within walking distance of my school, but I was all about trying to get more time to myself.
Although I deeply treasured my NatGeo collection, I knew that it was time for me to experience some sort of change in morning reading material. I made a mental note to make a stop by the town’s library on the way back from school as so to have something to look forward to. Just as fast as I’d woken up, I glanced down at my wrist and saw that it was now t-minus one hour until I was due to walk through the gates of hell. I hopped out of bed and picked my wardrobe for doomsday, the same as usual: longish sleeves with a loose-fitting skirt or dress that was knee-length or longer, no makeup, and sparse jewelry. I know that many say that if you’ve got it, then why not flaunt it, but trust moi, no one wants to or needs to see my body. I suppose one thing I have to thank the Prestige program for is allowing me to skip out on taking gym, meaning that I don’t have to wear those ugly shorts ever again!
7:15 swings by and I am heading out the front door.
“Izzy, remember to add some carrots to your lunch tray at school. They are supposed to improve eyesight.” Said my mother, ever-so calmly reminding me of the fact that my glasses are as thick as haunted house fog.
“Will do.” I murmured; also wondering how she knew there would be carrots available at the school’s cafeteria. I made my way to Joenby and what shouldn’t have been any more than fifteen minutes felt like an hour. This was the first time in my life that I was able to walk to school, so I felt as though I might as well take in the scenery of my commute. The sun was higher than it was when I first got up to read, but you could tell that it was still a wee bit cranky, wiping the morning dew from its bright eyes. On the way to school, I passed through the city’s downtown, an area filled with a wide range of shops, eateries, and churches.
“Good Morning, mademoiselle! How are you? Would you like ze bite?”
A rather old and fresh-off-the-boat-sounding French man popped out of his bakery to offer me a mini Napolean. It was as if he knew that I was the child of French immigrants! Although my parents can speak both French and English flawlessly, I admit had a much tougher time trying to do the same. Still, I mustered up the courage to bust out my “frenchiness” on him.
“Uh……non, s’il vous plait. De rien.” What was I thinking? As I continued walking down the street, I passed by a very long line of people. There had to have been at least one hundred people waiting in line outside of what I eventually came to see was a church; a very beautifully-aged building that was one of the highlights of Smithfield. Curious, I paused for a moment to contemplate taking a peek inside. I took a look at my watch and realized that I still had plenty of time to make it to school, so I simply took to what I liked doing best: exploring (or more like peeking). After posing in the line for a few minutes, I managed to make it inside of the church and see what all the fuss was about. Little did I know that what I would come to witness would rock my world.