We Are One.

A glossy shiny photograph lined the bottom of my school mailbox drawer today. Usually full of meaningless papers that I use to fill up trash bins, the photograph was a change from the ordinary. I peered at it closely. The staff had gathered only a week or two ago to take the photo and I remember it quite clearly. Standing like sardines on the bleachers as a little man ran around us telling the men to clench their fists and insisting that everyone in the front row wear the same brown, communal slippers. As I scrutinized it, I couldn’t find myself. Was I even there? I remember being there. Surely I was there. But, wait, was I?

As this year I wasn’t grinning maniacally and confusedly at the camera (whilst everyone else forces their facial muscles into a complete state of Dead-Zen, and their eyes as lifeless as possible) and in the spot of honor behind the principal, it took me farrrrrrrrrrrr too long to pick myself out from the sea of sullen, emotionless faces and dark hair that make up a professional staff photo.

It’s a wee bit frightening.