The day the bluebirds sang

The worst part about enrolling in a Catholic grade school is the standard school uniform. The polo’s are big, the sweaters are itchy and gym clothes are never worn out of gym class. However, in most Catholic and private schools, girls have the option of wearing pleated, plaid skirts that reach the knee. Ours included a maroon base color, with gray, white and black stripes that completed the plaid pattern. As with any dress or skirt, the underneath could cause some problems in terms of staircases, sudden gusts of wind, or clumsy footing, in which the underside could be clearly visible. However, being a conservative individual, I chose to erase this problem by simply putting on a pair of shorts before putting on the skirt. Unfortunately, I had to learn to take this precaution the hard way.
Overhead, the puffy clouds, breezy air, and warm sun signaled springtime. Easter vacation was fast approaching with its promise of perfect weather and relaxation. Because of this, my maroon-clad classmates seemed to draw in this energy and expel it with great force against fellow classmates and teachers relentlessly. However, I maintained my composure like a mature youth and managed to contain my adrenaline though the school days leading up to vacation. In contrast, my friends were swept up in spring fever and tried their hardest to test my patience.
One of these individuals was an energetic, blond haired girl named Melissa. We have been friends for 5 years now and her favorite sport is playing tricks on me and figures of authority. On this particular day, Melissa’s hyperactivity was at an all-time high and she could not speak without collapsing into fits of giggles. Because of her uncontainable energy, she was on a mission to humiliate me in any possible way. Like a game of chess, it was time to make her move.
The day went well until the end of recess. My sweaty classmates were worn-out from playing foursquare and kickball. A particular bluebird was singing in an oak tree close to the hill of grass by the parking lot, which drew my attention while I walked single file into the school. All of a sudden, I felt my body gravitate toward the ground underneath me. To protect my cranial artery, I covered my head and with the help of gravity, I tumbled into a thorny bush that was conveniently adjacent to the entrance to the lunchroom. On my way down, I caught a glimpse of Melissa’s outstretched foot and heard her unique laugh reverberating through my skull.
I was upside-down in a bush with my maroon skirt over my head and my pink, frilly undergarments in plain view. Due to shock, I remained in this position for at least a minute. Around me, I heard the cruel laughter of my classmates, and a chuckle from the adults that watched me fall. My first reaction was to catch the nearest flight to Yemen and become an inconspicuous corn farmer. However, I knew I had to pick myself up and get in school, or else Sr. Dorothy would put me in the reflection corner. So, I crawled out of the thorny bush, stood up, brushed off the small twigs that stuck to my clothes, and marched into school, feeling like a complete and utter idiot.
For the days to come after that moment, I was the subject of verbal torture, and the punch line to everyone’s jokes. Despite my anger and wish for revenge, I forgave Melissa and everyone else who chose to make fun of me due to my mistake in footing. I knew that the potent combination of sun and boredom caused the accident, and I learned to get over it. When put in perspective, all that happened was that I tripped and fell. Even so, I always remembered the mistake I made when I put my shorts on under my skirt and headed off for another day of school. And I always watched where I was going on days when the bluebirds sang.