The Untimely Death of a High School Classmate
I’m not sure if I’m the only one who does this, but whenever I get a magazine from my high school, I skip to the last section labeled “In Memory.” This is where they list alumni who have recently passed away. Some may call me morbid, but I feel like it’s something I must do ever since a classmate was murdered by a serial killer.
Death is inevitable. There’s no escaping it. Most people can hope to make it well into their 70’s, but the ones who die much sooner than that are considered tragedies. In high school, the last thing on my mind was death. I knew it was going to happen someday, but my primary focus was getting good grades to get into a good college — my parents brainwashed me well.
For some people, high school was the best years of their lives. For me, they were the worst. I went to a boarding school with a ton of rules and lived in a dorm as you would for college. My first-year room was pretty standard: two single beds, two desks, and two built-in closets on opposite sides of the room. The walls were bare and made of cinder blocks painted white. The blandness of the room was consistent with my overall dull experience of high school.
