Dear God, Rain Me Unity.

The silence is nearly tangible in the small classroom. The unorganized rows of desks sit crooked and its occupants aren’t showing much sign of life either. These cheap, makeshift desks are littered with different kinds of graffiti. I run my fingers across the unique carvings, negative designs, cartoons, famous quotes, and all manner of drawings. My thoughts invade my mind... I know I belong in this school. I know I deserve the best education I can get. I didn’t sit through eight years acquiring a private education to NOT end up here. I love this school, I love that each and every person you come in contact with is so original and different. This school is a place of artists. But lately, it’s felt like just a normal high school. In the past year, Karl G. Maeser Prepatory Academy has more than tripled in size, going from a little over 200 students to over 600. I watch everyone at lunch and see all the clichés. Where do I fit in? Do I want to fit in? No, but lately it’s been hard not to desire being normal. What happened to the little gutted bowling alley? I’m worried that moving to our new building is too much change for me. I don’t want to let go of Maeser, but I don’t want to stay right now. I feel like I’m in an average high school doing three times the work everyone else has to do. I really miss the old Maeser. I watch people zone in and out of sleep as the monotone story drags on. Then out of nowhere, a soothing, mellow, white noise patters its way across our tin rooftop. The sudden downpour captivated everyone’s attention and we sat in silence listening to the drops ricochet off our tattered tin roof. The whole class was as alert as I’d ever seen. Every student is sitting up straight in their chair, eyes darting back and forth glancing at one another and the teacher fell silent. For a moment we all just listened. The raindrops sounded so large and heavy as they continued their dance across our old rooftop. The teacher stood up from the chair he’d been planted in for the past hour and shut his laptop. We watched him as he carefully put down his pencil. The orchestra of God’s tears grew louder and louder until it crocheted into a deafening blast of overwhelming sound. I watched as he looked up and quietly and calmly said, “Let’s go.” Then a huge smile broke the tension as he grinned from ear to ear. His suit jacket and tie went flying behind him as we all ran out the back door and into the rain. I watched 19 students, who just minutes before could care less about each others names, ran, danced, skipped, and splashed in the symphony of rhythm. In just 30 short seconds, we were all soaked to the bone and violently shaking from the cold, but every single one of us was smiling bigger than I’d seen this whole school year. As we trickled back into our class, teeth chattering, we all huddled in a circle in the centre of the room, using each others body heat to stay warm. In these few minutes I felt the old Maeser. I felt a school that wasn’t limited by things as dumb as clichés and popularity. I watched a class become unified by something as simple as the rain. Maybe this year won’t be as difficult as I had previously believed…maybe all these new students really do belong in this incredible place of knowledge. Maybe we’ll gradually get the unified environment we had last year. I hope it rains more often. I love the sound of our old, tin rooftop.