School wasn't all that was left behind
I was just leaving a doctor’s appointment. The moment I opened the car door, my mother turned to me from the driver’s seat: There was a mix of shock and amusement on her face as she shared the news that schools, including mine, were shutting down for in-person learning. I slid into the back seat and sat down next to my brother and sister. All the way home, I thought, I can’t believe it.
Earlier that day, I had told my friends that I hoped coronavirus reached New Mexico so that we wouldn’t have to go to school anymore. The moment my wish had come true, I regretted saying that.
As we switched to online learning, I spent hours on Zoom, struggling to understand trigonometry through a screen only to end the day with a massive headache. All around me, my brother and sister played, my dog barked and focusing on school became a daily challenge. When I told my teachers about this, they all said the same: “We’re all struggling. This is new for us all.”
Day after day, I woke up five minutes before class, pencil in hand, ready to start the day. By the end of every school day, my head was pounding and my brain was foggy. On the last day of school, the administration prepared a full day of online activities to vaguely mimic the pep rally, yearbook signing, and celebrations that usually take place. But when I texted my friends, no one felt celebratory that day. No one logged on.
As the months passed, my hope that school would return slowly diminished and texts with friends became less frequent. I began checking my phone every few minutes only to find nothing every time. It wasn’t the learning that was hardest, I realized, but the inevitable feeling that school wasn't the only thing left behind.