Last Day of School

I wanted a picture for this post. Taken years ago it was from the roof of my old school. On the last day of school I made it a thing to go on the roof and survey the two block radius. Couldn't find it, even with social media able to remember and show me everything else. Found my very first Instagram post  (An aquarium picture that said bubble bubble) but this picture must have only existed in my kind. My own custom made Mandela effect of a last day tradition.

Maybe it never happened? It wasn't documented and I am the only and quite biased narrator often this blog. 

No toe curling memories of teachers being up there and arching over the waist high parapet. I don't mind heights per se. It's edges that get me. The line between feet on the ground and ass over ankles. People will sometimes say "I just can't with this." 

Well, I can't with people peering over balcony edges or railings. Those teachers peering over the edge towards the park (The blue park in the students lingo) were all just forthcoming splats on the sidewalks. I could be the hero and swoop them into my arms but it's a 40-foot drop and I would freeze.

The roof's surface had the consistency of rising bread. Pockets of it poked slightly higher above the actual flashing between the brick and tar. Walking on it had a moon bounce vibe. A bouncy house just set to high chaotic randomness. You will fly one day and another you will roll an ankle.

There is a service ladder on the side of the building that people seem to prefer. In my memory that was never in play. Instead getting up meant climbing a ladder in a custodial closet, dodging a burning 150 watt bulb and a head first scoot over a gap to reach the crawl space under the roof hatch. There are dozens of crumpled packets of menthol cigarettes in this run. Oddball economy brands at the bottom of the shelf. Maverick, Newport, Kools

In the pic, the flag on the flag pole snaps into focus on the teal of a hundred kids playing field day are in soft relief. The Key and Terminal Towers poke up from the far horizon. There are sycamore trees as tall and old as the school building and the maneuvering SUVs and vans fighting for a place to park. 

That picture is gone. Or never existed. That tradition is over and likely people are safer for it. My hearts bends and breaks thinking about it exposed up in the air.