Don't Diss on Council
By Michael Richardson
What stood for a bell rang. It was more of a dull beep, referred to among most of the students at Council High School as the "tone." I stood up and gathered my backpack and my somewhat-less-than-in-good-condition binder, bidding farewell to my tutorial teacher. I walked the short walk to my school locker and grimaced at the mess inside. It was a true Junior High students' locker, with everything from actual school books to old coats that don't fit anymore, all piled up to a respective height of about a foot and a half. I sighed and walked down the hall to the bright sunlight outside, pausing on my way get a drink. I opened the door and turned left, instead of my usual right to go to the bus. I really didn't want to ride it, the obnoxious elementary students being too much to handle, and all the high-school students bunching up in their pitifully little space that they were allowed to sit in.
I turned and went left, allowing the water dripping down at the end of the roof to cascade over my head, giving some small refreshment from the hot and stuffy areas of Council High. I ungracefully climbed over the mound of snow that marked the beginning to the path away from the school, a gift from the snowplow. Ahead I saw a fellow classmate of mine, but said nothing as I continued my trek along the now dirt (do I dare say path?) rut that continued along in the front of the school, past the sign that proudly boasted the words "Welcom Dallas Brass" that was on the Channel Six news, either showing the schools inaptitude for spelling or the amount of daring vandals in this town.
I reached the telephone pole and stepped behind a waiting van, shouldering my bag as I went. I waited for a semi to pass then cut across the road before one of the busses (probably the one I ride) reached the faded crosswalk. I started up the inclined road that ran along the right side of the old Adams County Leader building, past the gouge marks in the asphalt that marked the time when my English class was walking up to the library and a trailer unhitched from the back of a pickup, smashing a sign and leaving us laughing and rolling around on what constitutes for a sidewalk.
As I walked past the giant drifts left again by the snowplow (industrious fellow, isn't he?) that somewhat blocked getting to the library by a shortcut on foot, thereby foregoing getting your feet coated in mud, I sighed and reflected on our town. It was great, true, but there were so many faults, though they happened to be minor and inconsequential. It was amazing how many things one could find by nit picking. From everything from the horrendous bus ride to the gouges in the streets, you could find many things wrong. But you could also find many things right. Though we still haven't gotten a bakery yet, which I am hoping for soon, if you can trust rumors, we do have a bookstore/espresso bar, a great library, good schools (sometimes) many restaurants that have great food, and a number of other things that totally out shadow the nit picked degradations. So, I say to you, those who hate our town, stop nit picking and go and look at the beauty, the simplicity, of this town.
I say this, even though I'm still opting for a swimming pool. That is one major thing. Only one, however!
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