Arrival

You don't get many opportunities at a brand new start. The words of your dad echo in your head as you gaze dreamily out of the car window at the old buildings of the city that would be your new home. "Not many people get a chance as good as this," he'd tell you, and you agreed, you guessed. This would be good, you think, you hope.

The car pulled to a stop in the carpark of your new school, your new home. You sighed wearily and as your parents spoke to your sister, who was infinitely more confident than you about this, you choked. Damn it if you were going to turn on the waterworks in front of your parents, in front of your sister. You coughed and pulled out your earbuds. Slipping out of the car, you began to unload it of your belongings. It'd almost feel like you were going on holiday, had you been excited. You had been excited though. When you were telling everyone at your old school, you felt you were moving onto bigger and better things. You could swear you were, but as the pale, limestone buildings of the ancient city towered whichever way you looked, you couldn't help but feel anxious. Was this right? You don't get an opportunity to change your mind.

Of course the car was parked furthest from your boarding house. Nearest to hers. Of course they favoured her. Of course you have to trudge down the seemingly unending road in the miserable, early January weather. You walked faster than your parents, whom apparently felt the need to see their darling off.

As you finally reached your future home, you cast your gaze up, taking in the size of the historic building. If its facade wasn't so bland, it'd almost be menacing. The front door was ajar and you heaved your belongings through the porch and into the hallway. It was probably magnificent three hundred years ago. Now though, demoted to being a boarding house for thousands of adolescent boys over the years, every surface just seemed to be tinted with the tired grey of dust and a lack of respect. Making your way up the first flight of stairs, it seemed quiet. You assumed that not many people had moved in yet. You made your way to your room, you entered and were met with a trio of wooden cabin beds that were probably cutting edge 30 years ago. You were also greeted by a Chinese boy, from Hong Kong. He introduced himself as Jason. They give them white names when they come here, I never understood that. Your parents helped you make your bed and begin to unpack before they dismissed themselves. They slipped out the door and you watched them walk away for the first time. You probably finished unpacking quickly but frankly you lost track of time. Better to distract yourself than wallow on something you can't change. You spoke with Jason, he seemed decent. You both decided that it was a good time to go to the cafeteria for dinner.

The pair of you ate, and upon returning to your house, you'd be greeted by the Boarding House Master, Mr Auburn. You'd met him before. He was nice. He called the entire house of boys into the common room, yourself included. He introduced yourself to the other boys and you offered a quick smile although you avert your gaze from making any real contact. It seemed daunting, being surrounded by a bunch of strangers, from ages fourteen to probably eighteen. Everything felt so alien.

The house meeting came to an end and you took yourself to the toilet. You went to piss, but in that moment you felt the tears come back. Shit. You put the toilet seat back down, sat on top of it and cried. Silently. You didn't want anybody to hear. The tears came short and swift but it irritated you. You wanted this. You wanted to make this step in your life. You asked yourself what the problem was but no answer came. It just felt wrong. You gathered yourself, nevertheless. As you made your way back to your room you bumped into the House Captain, Will. He wanted to get to know you. You hoped it hadn't looked like you were crying. It probably did. He was one of the older boys in the house, in year thirteen. He was probably nice. You know you'd felt everyone before has been merely nice, but, when the same introductory conversation ensues, "How are you finding it? You're Joshua, right? Where are you from?" You understand that they're being just nice. Not friendly, or kind, or overly welcoming. Nice. You roll your eyes at your own melodrama and continue on your way back to your dormitory. By now your other roommate had returned too. You think of taking back your feelings on everyone's simple niceness with this one. If slugs had legs, this would be their almighty ruler. He sniffled and introduced himself. He spoke with a sense of perpetual sickness and lack of motivation, which with a glance over at his desk and bed space only carried itself into other areas of his being. Glorious.

You clambered up onto your bed and sat on your phone. You replied to your parents texts. They'd arrived home safely. Good for them. You gave them the same pseudo positive responses you'd given your fellow housemates. This was going to be oh so enjoyable, you thought to yourself, chuckling at your own sarcasm. Alas, at least you were still funny to yourself. You wanted to kick yourself for this pointless melancholy however, as time passed and you eventually nestled yourself into your new bed for the rest of the year, you sighed. It'll be fine once you're into it, that was what you decided. You will enjoy yourself.