The Schedule

By Jonah O

I find myself in an empty hallway. Either side of the hallway is lined with lockers. I am back in school. Columns of reddish brick break the lockers into sections of ten, each one packed with the materials of two students. And the ceiling is that particle board I always thought hid another floor. I am in an area of the school that I am not familiar with but it looks the same. My locker would be on the other side of the school if this is the school I remember.

I feel as though a timer has started somewhere. A six-minute timer. The six minutes between 8:54 am and 9 am. The period between the first and second periods. The period between Principles of Engineering and… I can’t remember.

The clocks around slowly tick away.

It’s a class that involves… science. Very descriptive, the class I just came from has science. Maybe if I can recall the teacher I could… It’s an old white guy. He has a slight lazy eye in the left eye. Now I’m on to something. His classroom felt like it should be north of where I was. I have an internal compass so I could face what I believed was north.

The ticking became louder.

This hall feels endless, just rows and rows of lockers broken into sections by the brick, terminating at the particle board. A left turn should have occurred by now or… No, it should have happened by now. This hall was always long but it was never this long. A mural showing that this is the language hall… That’s right, this is the language hall. I don’t know why it is called that, there were two more hallways you had to go through to get the language classes. A left turn should have happened by now.

The ticking’s pace grew faster.

Suddenly, the hall is flooded by a sea of students. They all feel similar, like I have met or seen all these people before but it is as if my brain has forgotten about them and tried to recall what they might look like. Clothing is the only thing that distinguishes the students from each other. One is wearing a polo shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. That student is going to be the successor to his father’s business; his life is already planned out. Another wears a simple graphic with light gray jeans… That one feels too familiar.

The ticking became lost in the sea of students and their indistinguishable conversations.

The students are walking quickly past me in opposite directions, as if going to class, like usual. They are like parallel lines, always congruent but never to cross. Facing north, the line of students on the right side of the hallway seems to be heading in the direction of where I believe my next class to be. The line is moving fast but I can keep up the pass, I am usually the kind of kid to walk a little too quickly in the halls.

I can hear the ticking again; it has grown louder.

It felt as though I had been fast walking for hours now but looking at a clock reveals that I have only been walking for a minute. Despite the constant, ever-present ticking, only three minutes have passed and three minutes left.

The endless hallway finally reached some change. I would have expected to find a left turn to another hallway and a right turn into the cafeteria if this were the school I remember. Instead, there was a door on the west side of the hallway. A plaque found at the top of the door simply read “CLASS.” To the north, the hallway ended and the student just… Kept walking through the wall as if it had no collision. I imagined that I wouldn’t have the same abilities as the faceless students so, with nowhere else to turn, and two minutes left, I chose to enter the class.

The ticking subsided in the room.

The room did not feel like a classroom. It is small, about the size of a public restroom. The ceiling is far too low and the desks and chairs are packed together with little room between them. The teacher, who looks nothing like the teacher I am looking for, is too tall for this room. They are sitting but I imagine they would have to hunch to stand. The laptop their gaze is locked onto is the most normal thing in this room. A simple silver-colored back to the screen of the laptop, with an emblem of sorts at the center. The emblem is nothing I recognize. Whatever they are looking at on there, probably their Gmail, it needs their whole attention.

The ticking became present again, probably signifying one minute left.

This is not my correct classroom. Leaving the room reveals the hallways have changed. The north has opened up and the south has been closed off. It is as though the hallway has been flipped since entering the room. I have no time left to ponder why the hall has changed. I sprint towards what I believe is north. The hall, once again, feels endless. And the ticking feels like my own heartbeat in my ears. I am not going to find my class. I am not going to make it. All my work has been for nothing. I will never make it. The clock is going to strike at 9 am and I will be seen as a failure by my teacher. I have always been on time, never once have I been late. I cannot let myself fall so far after trying so hard. Gazing at the clocks reveals that 9 am is here. And… I wake up. I am lying in bed. My heart is pounding, I feel as though I am late for school. The clock to the left of me says it is currently 6:54 am. I am still early and I haven’t missed anything. Then I finally remember: I graduated three years ago and I go back to sleep.