Leaving

     I stand where I always do at 3:35 on a Tuesday afternoon, my stomach a flutter as people emerge from their classrooms overlooking the playground - I say playground, though no real playing ever goes on unless you include the way she teases me - waiting for her to come appear from the hut tucked away in the corner so neatly it would be an easy building to miss. But I do not miss it. I shall never miss it, it very image being ingrained into my memory for me to replay every time I stand there watching it every Tuesday, my hands in my pockets, my legs crossing and uncrossing in nervous anticipation.
     My nerves at once seem ridiculous the moment I pay them any thought, though my attention very rarely focuses on my fidgetyness. My thoughts are for now with the girl who will momentarily appear from that little corner.

     The case on Tuesdays is that almost always I am first out. Our classrooms are next to each other for sixth period and so we agree to wait for the other  in the space halfway between them for our final goodbye of the day. Today I stand as my other friends jeer across at me as they head for their buses, playfully of course for that is what friends do, before shooting my the middle finger and grinning and finally rounding the corner out of sight.
     I see the door open for the fist time and I feel my pulse ever so slightly quicken, but alas it is not her, just a couple of the boys in my year whose aspirations are to study sport or finance or something else which I find deathly boring, and my relationship to them extends as far as them beating my team at football during PE. Come this Friday, after all is done and dusted I should think it unlikely I will ever come in close contact with them again, or any of these people who have begun to flood past me as they head homeward.
     My mind begins to drift to what will happen after Friday. I will see this place four, maybe five more times before I have officially left, and with any luck I shan't see it again for a good number of years. It is not as though I dislike the place, on the contrary some of my fondest memories have come from being at this school, like the time I was too exhausted to walk so I was carried like a king on a throne all the way to the other end of school, or the many lovely afternoons eating cakes with Mrs Shea. I am thankful for its convenience of allowing me to be with my friends every day, and even more so for introducing me to such wonderful people, but I cannot help but feel a pessimistic about it's coming to an end.
     I have gained some friends who I intend - as one always does - to keep in contact with for the rest of my life, but I cannot help but know from so many painful past experiences that this cosy and safe environment I have surrounded myself in over these past six years is being harshly ripped from my clenched fingers. No longer will I be able to see these people I love so dearly as much as I have done, no more structure, no more obligation, no more arrows pointing the path which I must follow. I feel more lost than I can ever remember having done in my life, like the ice on a frozen pond cracking as spring melts it, my life raft melting before I have mastered being able to swim. I feel as though I can get to the edge but I have no sense of direction, no guidance other than what I want, and this is terrifying.
     The door opens again, still not her, though I think I see her just behind them and my heartbeat quickens once again. I look and think that this will be the last time I shall ever see her emerge from here, the last time we will say goodbye in this spot, the last time convenience will serve itself to us on a Tuesday afternoon at 3:35.
     She has stepped out into the sunshine, walking alone for which I am grateful. It is hard enough to get her by herself at any time let alone when I need to see her, so I see this as a small godsend. She quickly finds my gaze and smiles with such effortless beauty, made more apparent by the sun which lights up her face. She totters down the steps, though I have never been able to tell if it is intentional in an act of playfulness towards me, or if it there is some genuine clumsiness. Regardless of its cause I find it endearing and to question her on it would be pointless.
Her staggering feet carry her towards me and I take a few steps so that we meet. Her face has become a frown and she squints towards the sky.
      "I can't see!" the tone in her voice rises towards the end of her exclamation and I feel my face turning into a grin. Holding her hands in mine I turn us a hundred and eighty degrees so that we have switched positions. The sun is now in my eyes, but I do not complain as from where I stand it makes her look almost angelic.
     "Better?" I ask trying to sound endearing and I can tell it has as she nods at me, her lips curving into a smile. I bend down so that our faces are level before we each tilt to our lefts and allow our lips to meet for a brief yet wonderful moment. We pull away ever so slightly and she says:
     "I'll see you tomorrow," and I know this is a statement, not a question. Of course it is true that we will be at school again tomorrow, but the way she says it makes me really feel like she means it and wants to see me. I know it is silly, but with all of us going our separate ways to revise for our exams and then moving into the longest summer of our lives, it makes me feel safe that she has no intention of going anywhere, metaphorically speaking. People will drift, I will drift, these people I see everyday I will perhaps never see again, but the fact that I will see her again, not just tomorrow but long after that, weeks, months, maybe longer makes the rest of it feel a little more bearable.
I pull her in to kiss once more before stepping back and drawing her into a hug. My bag makes detracts from its closeness, her arms not quite reaching the whole way round, but I know it still means the same as it would otherwise.Finally, we let each other go and part ways, she calls something after me, something unimportant but I am glad for it.
     It suddenly occurs to me that we were in fact the last two people out, everyone else has moved far enough out of sight on their own paths home or wherever they go, too far for me to catch up with them. I feel as though some higher power is presenting me with a metaphor which returns my thoughts to the harsh sadness of the situation and I go into autopilot, scurrying to my bus in the hopes that I wont be the one left behind on this empty playground as those around me go in search of something more.

Authors note: I write this in truth of how I feel, how I felt today and have done for a short time now. I am about to leave high school and it is scary for me to think how lonely things might get. I know how friends drift apart and I just don't know if I can bear it again.