I dream of hallways of the past.

My middle school was on the upper floor of a school in the middle of nowhere. On one side, there was a field. On the other, a cemetery. As though reminding us where we'd end up if we stay in this little town too much. Beside the resting place, was a church-at the corner.

The school, was beautiful compared to the other schools, but at the same time, it also held a forboding feel to it. It was an immaculate building with bricks and these large windows. The classrooms were tucked in and out as you walked. The Elementary was downstairs-and we, well, we were stuck upstairs. When you walked in the doors in the morning, the Middle Schoolers walked in the doors to the right, and the Elementary to the left. There was a conference room to the right and the Teachers' inboxes were to the left. The stairs were split level stairs and there were glass doors on the half landing. Once you finally walked into the top hall, there were windows with the view of the playground to the right and lockers that looked as though they were there for the sixth graders, even though they never used them. Above those, there were large windows.

The hall split at the doubledoors, and thus began the hallway. It was a long hallway, with glass at the end by the girls' restrooms. The classrooms sometimes had connecting doors, and it felt larger than my last school. The lockers just lined one side of the hall, and it felt as though it went on forever. The first time I walked into the school, I realized the spots of the restrooms. I feel as though I'm not doing it justice, trying to write about it, but across from one of the Math rooms, there was the "Hall of Fame" where newspaper clippings and photos hung of the students that made the paper. I made it there several times.

A little ways down, there was Jane's board. Which usually had various mythology pages, graded papers with perfect grades, and tributes to world events. She felt it was her duty to inform us of the world that the Educational System wanted to shield us from.

My teachers all had odd names. I'll always remember that. Names that you'd find in fictional stories, in fact, I can't write many fictional stories now because I fear that there's probably a teacher out there with that name.

Just five classrooms before the end of the entrance hall, there was a turn to the right.

It held the entrance to the cafeteria, and straight ahead the gymnasium. Our bathroom at that end of the hall, it was horribly painted purple with yellow sponge paint on the wall. The stall on the end never worked, and usually I avoided using the bathroom at all there.

Our gym was old and drafty, with wooden stairs and seats-with a stage that probably was only used in talent shows. What a waste of a stage. I always was hoping for a drama club, but we were far too poor to afford that.

I had a dream about that place last night. After reading Jane's blog with the description of the classroom that I remember sitting in and watching the Horrible truths of the Holocaust. The Princess Bride, Frogs, and an array of other movies which were probably not that educational, but in ways no one else could see unless you paid attention and it tied into the lesson. (Right?) But movies are all educational, in some way.

I wish I could go back and tell most of the teachers what I thought about them, but now, I'd rather go back and tell them that they need to get their heads out of their asses and stand up for something they believe in-and don't get brainwashed by the system.

I'd go back and tell Jane how much she affected my life. I'd go back and choose a different path than the one I took.

But then, I wouldn't be the person I am today...would I?

I still laugh at the fact that my friend Lauren & I would watch Tommy when he spun his combination every day and we'd leave him notes, and funny pictures-although, he didn't find it too funny. Was I a mean girl? For a while, yes.

But he was doomed-and that hallway is still dark.