Special Day #18

I’ve experienced 17 last days of school. 17 times I’ve walked out of a large building with a smile on my face knowing that I had 3 months of freedom ahead of me. 3 months to play with my friends, 3 months to stay up late, 3 months to wear nothing more professional than board shorts and an old pair of Rainbows. And somehow, all 17 times have managed to be just as special as the one before. There are only a handful of experiences that are so special to me that I approached them with the same enthusiasm when I was 5 as I did when I was 21, the last day of school was one of them. This next last day of school will probably be my last, and I meet it with a certain level of apprehension. This is the first time I have ever experienced a last day of school without knowing when I would return to school. This is the first time I’ve ever gone into summer without teachers or parents telling me that I need to read a couple books over summer or look over my notes in order to keep the information fresh in my mind. This is the first time I’ve ever ended a school year without looking over all my school supplies and making a mental note of what I would need to buy before the next school year began.

It’s ironic that this last day of school makes me nervous for the exact reasons that I loved all of the other last days of school. This last day of school represents levels of freedom I have never experienced before. I can pack up and leave the city, the state, or even the country and in 3 months no one will be sending me emails about assignments I have missed, no one will be calling my parents to find out why I haven’t returned. I am about to enter purgatory. This begins a time where I am not employed full-time and am no longer a student. Lord knows I can’t fill out any surveys until I find a job, I’ll look like a bum.

I know nothing about what the rest of my life will bring. Hopefully there will be a wife involved, and kids, yea, kids would be nice, oh, and margaritas! on a beach, a Caribbean beach, no, you need a lot of money for that, maybe just margaritas on a quaint American beach.

As this time approaches, I’m nervous, I’m apprehensive, I’m anxious. But no matter what anyone says, I ain’t scurd.

-Bryce Koonts