I remember like it was yesterday. The crowded hallways filled with rowdy kids. The sound of laughter and talking escaped from behind the closed doors. I remember the teachers sometimes almost not having control over us kids. We greatly outnumbered them. We were what made the school.

As I walked into the ugly cafeteria, I remember the smell of cheap hotdogs and chicken nuggets cooking. We waited in line for our turn to demand the lunch lady to give us a hotdog that wasn’t wrinkly and brown in the inside. The lunch lady sighed in pure frustration.

When we finally took our seats, we talked about what would happen at recess. The game of Tag that had continued from last week, and how we were going to harass the teachers. We sat and ate. The boys with their jelly-covered faces, and us girls complaining about the possibility of getting Cooties. Our voices became louder and carried around the cafeteria. Giddy with excitement; no care in the world. The teachers complained of us being too loud, but we didn’t care. We talked anyway. Eventually, they announced that we would have five minutes taken off recess if we didn’t shut up. That did it; we stopped.

Close to the end of lunch, the floor was covered with bread crust and the kids began to complain about threatening stomach aches. But even through the worst, nothing mattered except going to recess. Immediately after the school doors opened, the playground was swarmed with wild kids. Everyone had a favorite. Whether it was Big Slide, the swings, or the playhouse. We ran and jumped like maniacs. We jumped off the top of the swings and believed that we could fly. We felt invincible. This is what used to be my life; this was elementary school.