A Farewell

I was in sixth grade. We were lined up against the wall, standing there, waiting for our teacher to come and open the class. If you’re familiar with the middle school campus, you would certainly remember the set up – sixth graders huddled in the coveted area by the stairs, seventh graders by the handball courts in the cage, and eighth graders sat on their pedestal of their second floor. Or, at least, that’s how I remember it. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in sixth grade. But, we were standing there. This was not itself unusual, as the teacher had not yet come, and we were ambling around outside the classroom. Still it was new, and, therefore, it was exciting. We were in the period of transition from lockdown Zooming to in-person school, and it was still a hybrid, so the entire class wasn’t present. In actuality, few of us had truly met each other before. 

Let’s just say that I wasn’t necessarily the most popular child. I was fresh from elementary school, and 6th grade was my first year at the Lycée. Pigtails neatly braided and brandishing my bright red glasses, I was ready to make a mark on my new school. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the right one. From the second that I entered the school, I was immediately marked as the “teacher’s pet,” someone to be avoided. I just never really clicked with my peers. So when we returned to in-person schooling, I naïvely thought that I could make friends and assimilate into the already established cliques, the membership of which I so deeply coveted. Let’s just say that was not the case. Of course, I eventually made friends, though not with the people I had initially hoped, but, for the moment, I was alone. 

Then came the eighth graders. A line of them, staring straightforward and chattering amongst themselves, winding, and weaving through the area up to the stairs. The sixth grade courtyard is closed off with a small iron wrought fence, but, to reach the stairs, one must pass through the area. Thus, it was commonplace to view students making their way through the area, typically eighth graders, as their classrooms were situated on the second floor. They paid me no mind, busy chatting with their peers about whatever happened to be going on in their lives. I stood there against the wall, wide eyed and staring at these incredible giants. 

And then one turned. She waved to me, smiling as the line filed towards the stairs. It was Lucia. I waved back enthusiastically – possibly over enthusiastically. But she was a friend, and one of the only ones that I had. You see, we had been in Drama together, on Zoom, with Mr. Ray as our teacher. I remember many a time going into breakout rooms, joking about the similarities between our names and laughing between lines. The friendly competitiveness when ambling for a role and the general attitude that she contributed to the class was so unique, so incredible. It was fun. And as she waved at me, I realized just how tall she was, how tall they all were. Giants, the whole lot. 

I remember thinking to myself: “I’ll never be as big as them.” To reach their age, their height, their status of nobility as the eldest in the school. I was naught but a sixth grader, a mouse among giants. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the moment passed. Lucia turned away and went back to chatting with her classmates, returning once again to the group that I was not a part of. I envied it, envied them, and wished that I could have been in a grade that accepted me more easily into the fold as I watched the giants tromp away. Still, even after all these years, that moment stayed with me. I still haven’t lost the feeling of awe when looking at the seniors. And though I have far surpassed the eighth graders in age, I still view them as giants. 

The lives of the seniors occurred parallel to mine. When I was in seventh grade, they were entering high school. When I was in eighth, they were in Washington DC. The following year, I entered high school. I remember being so nervous. Of course I was! I had no idea what to expect, what to do, or who to meet. My friends were either in the year below me or were leaving for another high school, and my friend group dwindled from six to one. Everyone was so tall, so old. The eleventh graders, the same people whom I had regarded as giants, remained upon that pedestal. Yet, next year I’ll be their age. How time flies. They made high school less scary and more approachable as they were everywhere in the school, poking their heads into Mr. Brack’s Thursday English class and writing on the board, running MUN and helping out with the ROAR. They were sweet, and now they’re seniors (of course, still giants)--about to graduate and move on to the next stage in their life. 

They are still so tall, so grand, and yet I remember them, both as they are and as they were. Laughing on Zoom, chats in the hallways, laughing over one piece of media or another. Anna has been the single best ROAR editor I have ever met, and Abigail the greatest MUN president. Zofia, creating crisis committees (NOT crisises) is one of the most fun things ever. Therina makes French class bearable. Chloe has the most knowledge of literature that I have ever met, and it’s a joy to joke around about it. Eva will always be a Super Trouper. Lucia is a star, both on and offstage. There are so many memories, so much that the seniors have done to just make this school better. I still look up to them all, and I think I always will. Teachers always tell the upperclassmen that the younger students will look up to them. Well, not everyone may believe it, but it’s true. Despite only having a two year age gap, the seniors will always remain giants in my eyes. But they are amazing, and believe me, will be deeply missed. So long, farewell, auf wiederseh'n, adieu, both in college and beyond. Hopefully, we will meet again.