Descriptive Essay

Amy Miller
Mr. Schelle
English 111
4 December 2009

One Time in the Gym…

High school is a time in your life most remembered: the friends, the fights, the laughter, and the tears. I attend Hotchkiss High school in Hotchkiss, Colorado. This brick school is implanted directly in the middle of the dobes. It seems quite out of place, and only consists of a couple hundred students; I am one of these students. My school is an average size building, but only one place vividly sticks in my mind. This place is where my first and last day of high school will be spent. It is a room consumed by triumph and defeat, joy and sorrow, tears and laughter, friends and enemies. It is a place where a piece of my heart and my body will forever remain. My memories of high school will be kept sacred in the Hotchkiss High School Gymnasium.

I walk into the gym as the cold air rushes through my lungs and makes it even more difficult to breathe. I say hello to my friends with a quivering voice and stare at my new home. This gym will be my best friend and worst enemy. My eyes drift across the banners hanging loosely from the pale ceiling. The walls whisper secrets of the past athletes and previous generations. My foot stumbles across a crack – or rather a canyon – in the floor, and I look to see if anyone noticed. My face radiates fear and the gym resembles a locked-down prison cell in my intimidated brain. Throughout the day, I stare at the broken clock positioned on the cracked bricks. Sadly, it moves faster than the working clock on the other side of the gym. My skin burns as I dive across the floor. The blood drips and mixes with the muddy concoction of sweat and dirt. I can taste the salt of the sweat that fills the stuffy gym. My senses are on high alert, ready for anything and everything. The tarpent floor binds my feet to the lines, and each step punishes my body. My heartbeat resounds in my head. My eyes fill with awe when I see the seniors hitting the floor with their bodies. I hope to someday own this gym the way they do. Finally, after five hours of intense volleyball, I step out into the brisk air and feel the freedom of the world outside the gym.

Once again, my feet walk toward the door. I pull it open and take in a deep breath. The smell of future victory engulfs my nostrils. My feet glide across the yellowish-brown floor and a sense of peace releases inside me. The wooden bleachers are squeakily pushed in and the gum sticks from one seat to another. We clear the floor before the start of our practice. Excitement radiates from inside me and transmits to my fellow seniors. Our black and white sneakers stomp across the cracked floor, punishing it for the weakness it shows. The victorious crimson banners match the color of the blood dripping from our knees, and they influence us to work that much harder. The word “Champions” glows from the cloth; before I leave, I hope to soon see my team’s triumph hanging in companion with these previous achievements. I close my eyes when I dive and I can hear the fans cheering and the whistle blowing. In everyone else’s mind, they see the hand-me-down scoreboard, but my eyes see a heart monitor, carefully watched over by everyone else. I come out of my trance and look to the broken clock on the wall; wishing time was really standing still. Running feet echo throughout the gym and overpower the constant humming of the ventilation system. Once again everyone leaves to their home, but I stick around for a little while longer. I sit cross-legged on the floor and take it all in, my senior year.

The final day of my high school career will be spent in this Gymnasium. The gym will transform into an area where no athletics take place, and academics are the main priority. The baskets will be raised and the ball racks put away where they can’t be seen. The gym will be taken over by platforms and chairs. Everyone will ditch the sweat stained uniforms for their nice clothes, and the air will taste of over-done perfume. The cracked floor will go unnoticed, because no feet will be running across it in chase of a loose ball, or in midst of a conditioning drill. Visitors from across the nation will attend the ceremony to see their friends and family start a new phase in their confused life. Voices will ring across the focused gym, talking of the past, present, and future. The banners will be pushed into the background and the victories will be forgotten for a day. Today is about a senior class, and their glory obtained not only in this gym, but also throughout the entire school and community. The walls will speak the rumors this class has already forgotten. The floor will cling to secrets of relationships, fights, kisses, losses, and triumphs. Memories will be whispered amongst the family members and friends of the graduates. Their voices will fall into the cracks and kept in the vault. Past days will flood our memories and soon the flood will evolve into tears that spill down our cheeks to be cradled by the gym floor. Today, the ever-present muddy concoction is tears, makeup and dirt. The emotional water will join all of the tears fallen since the first class to graduate here in 1982. We will then be considered the past of Hotchkiss High school, not the present, nor the future.

This gym will always be a place overflowing with memories, both good and bad. This gym is a safe of secrets whose security code is known only by HHS graduates. Each hour I spent here I gave another part of my soul to the gym. My spirit will roam across the bleachers pushing new teams and new athletes to be their best today and everyday. Although this was not the only place in the school, I know when I tell my future children of the times I had at HHS, almost every story will being with “This one time in the gym...”