The Last Locker

I cleaned out my locker for the last time today. I threw out old trash; smelly lunches, salad dressing, random french papers from December. I collected gym clothes, saying things like "So that's where that t-shirt went!" and "My socks!" I actually found a plate in with some notebooks. I discovered english books that I thought I had lost, and unearthed my psych textbook, which I actually thoght was under my desk. I cleared out old swimming notes that hung all ripped up on the walls. I took out the "what a whore" sticker that Emily had up all year- and had bugged me, all year. I found my bright stripey scarf, that was good, too. I put all of my binders and notebooks together, packing up the ones I wouldn't need anymore, consolidating the rest. I dismantled the locker shelves, setting them aside for next year (for my brother, not for me.) I shoveled all of the trash into an empty garbage bag I had scavenged from a janitor's cart and looked for a garbage can. A boy rolled past with one, and I asked how empty it was. My massive sack of trash just fit, and he asked how many lockers it was from. I said "just one," and grinned, almost maniacally. As I walked away, his face was wrinkled in disgust, yet filled with awe as well.

I had kind of planned on my last locker clean-out to be quiet and sad. Sentimental reminiscing, fond memories, and the like. it was more of a joyful purge; getting rid of everything I no longer need. One of my best friends was wandering nearby, intermitantly mocking my pigsty. There were some social studies teachers, only a handful of years older than I am, hanging out in the halls that I chatted with and who also mocked the extent of my mess. I saw my english teacher walk down the hall with a pile of books higher than her chin and added my books to the heap. I threw stuff into the trash bag with a "to hell with it all" kind of attitude, hoping that I wouldn't need any of it to graduate, knowing that I won't need it.

The Last Locker is clean, empty, echo-ey. All I am leaving behind is some space surrounded by smelly tin. Except I think I'll sign my name and graduating year somewhere in my locker, or elsewhere in the school. I feel like I have to leave my mark somewhere, my name. Maybe someday when I'm rich and famous someone will find my name, and it will become a tradition for every freshman to try and find it on their first day in high school. Probably not. But it's a nice thought, isn't it?