Hawthorne Heights [Editing]

four [edited]

Khari Vincent Spence

     "Welcome back to Exploring Photography," the Panamanian teacher announced.

He introduced himself as Mr. Quintero and made sure to carefully pronounce our names with his mini megaphone, but the students in the class paid him little attention. After eavesdropping into a few conversations, I discovered that most of the students in the class only signed up because Quintero let them leave early everyday.

It was my first day in cramped Washington High and I already hated most of the students, staff, and even the smell of the place. Everyone asked me questions that I didn't feel like making up answers to, so I just ignored them and fingered the crinkly pages of my journal. Every classroom and hallway smelled like someone sloshed around buckets filled with ammonia and tossed them on the walls. The hair on the back of my neck rose, meaning my paranoia spiked up.

I turned around, making direct eye-contact with the girl from lunch, the one with pretty eyes and a head full of hair. My first impression of her was abysmal. She didn't speak, she didn't look at me, and she didn't even try to conceal her nervousness. She acted as if I was some sort of unknown entity, and after hearing that she wanted to punch me, I figured that she didn't like me at all.

And for once in my life, I actually cared about how others perceived me. Some unknown feeling made me want to prove her wrong, yet I didn't know how. Do I just talk to her out of nowhere? What would we even talk about? What if she judged me just like everyone else did back in Atlanta...just like my own grandmother.

She accused me of murder.

After being taught the several parts of a camera and its functions, Mr. Quintero sent each of his students home with said object. He told us to capture footage, whether photos or videos, of something that saved us. He wanted small snippets of the project turned in throughout the year, but the final conglomeration of everything needed to be complete by May.

Essentially, he gave me ten months to think of a lie. In my opinion, he didn't put enough thought into the assignment. Anyone could record a video or take a photo of a leaf and say that it did something to his soul. And as a matter of fact, I planned on doing exactly that.

I trudged the two blocks from school, taking in everything around the area in the search of something to take photos of. Mailmen paraded around delivering boxes, storefront owners swept dust off of their steps, and pitbulls ran around grassless lawns jumping to get at me. The slam of a basketball caught my attention, dragging me in the direction of Hawthorne Heights.

     "Aye, ain't he that gay boy that lives on the same floor as you, Milo? I saw him walking this morning by himself," An abnormally obnoxious voice guffawed.

I glanced over from my position on the sidewalk to see two girls and a boy on a deserted basketball court. The girl with the pretty eyes and her friend were clad in basketball shorts and tank tops, while the boy wore leather pants and gold shoes.