The morning was just like any other. I rolled out of bed at the crack of 7:30 and walked downstairs to get ready for class on the patio. The parrots were squawking at the birdfeeder along the fence, but I couldn’t see them very well because of the lemongrass blocking my view. I liked Wednesdays, I didn’t need to go to the bus stop halfway across the neighborhood, I didn’t have to wear my mask, I didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of accidentally leaving a bloody smear on my chair in social studies, and I most definitely didn’t miss dealing with my bullies from the previous year. I only went in person once a week, every Tuesday with three periods a day.

First thing in the morning I had coding. That class was always uncomfortable. I never turned on my camera in that class despite the beautiful scenery behind me that was my mom’s garden and banana tree, and the teacher could never pronounce my name. I tried telling her I went by Lex, but I guess I was muted on the first day of school. It didn’t matter though; everyone was so busy not understanding a thing she was saying to worry about who was in which class.

I wasn’t too worried about anything related to coding though, because after coding and the 15-minute break time, I had English. I’ll never forget that class, Mr. Skal’s seventh grade English class, fourth period. I made lots of friends in that class, one of which went to school with me in Elementary and I didn’t even realize. I loved everyone there. They always had something funny to say, and my teacher was a bit of a prankster as well. There were several memorable moments: like the time Dani screamed because I has a lighter (which I had a PERFECTLY valid reason to be holding since the mosquitos were relentless), or when Mr. Skal used his daughter’s hairbrush on his shiny, bald head, or when Abbey burst into tears and left in the middle class because her pet chameleon died. We were like a family. A bunch of cousins that’s only ever seen each other through a screen including that really cool uncle supervising everyone.

As I finished class and got ready for the next, my mom (sweetest woman ever, by the way) brought me some apple slices to nibble on since I’d missed breakfast. I arched an eyebrow as I stared at my screen. Class always starts a bit early so my classmates and I could chat before getting down to business, so it was puzzling to see it hadn’t started yet.

The people I was closest with in the class made a group chat, so I thought I could message them to see whether my internet was being crappy or not. Sure enough, everyone else couldn’t get into the call either.

Sure enough, after checking my email, class had been canceled. My classmates and I talked for a bit, freaking out and unsure as to what happened. But nothing too bad could’ve occurred. Plus, Jon was just happy he didn’t have to keep reading Edgar Allan Poe.

After that whole conversation, it was kind of just an hour and a half of free time, so I turned on the TV (that thing was my lord and savior during quarantine) and watched an episode of Sherlock BBC. It’s not like anything terrible could’ve happened to our English teacher, he’s a tough guy. Maybe he was sick? Our school didn’t have any substitute teachers.

That Thursday, we saw him again. Everyone was bombarding him with questions. I personally didn’t care so much, but I was still curious. Maybe I didn’t want to know why, now that I’m already aware of what occurred that day.

Mr. Skal was a funny guy, but he was extremely serious when he told us. He got everyone to quiet down, or mute, whichever worked best. He told us that when he came to the school for work, he found a homeless man had made it on campus, tied a noose to one of the ceilings of the hallways and was dangling right near my teacher’s classroom.

I went silent. Some people screamed and freaked out. I mean, how do you expect middle schoolers to react to a suicide on campus? We weren’t even there when it happened, but anyone would be shocked by such a thing. I looked over at the birdfeeder, which I could see much better, dangling and swaying from the papaya tree. I moved the lemongrass back to obscure my view.

I had trouble paying attention in class that day. What made him do that to himself? Why would he do it at the school? Where did he even get the idea to do such a thing? Not to mention, imagine that poor school janitor who had to take down a corpse from the ceiling. I would’ve been mortified.

That night, I pondered, and I pondered hard. In those days, I had several suicidal thoughts and my mental health had plummeted. I could only imagine the look of that dead man; tattered and exhausted, a white film over his eyes, the stretch of his neck. Laying in my bed, I lifted my arm to stare at the red streaks across my wrist. The moonlight shone through my window, making it almost seem like the scars were glittering.

How had I not realized how precious life is?