I go to an all boys, traditional boarding school in England. Bording school is as much like prison as my housemaster is like a jail warden. One day last year i had just had enough thsi was the day that changed my life (cheesy but true).
Fully clothed, I lay in bed. My chest moved my duvet up and down as I breathed. A cool light breeze diffused through the window and spread itself out over my face. I could still hear the dominant voice of Mr Flactem creeping through the door from outside in the hall. I waited.
At the first sign of silence, I slowly rose from my bed and slipped on my shoes. With heightened apprehensions I tiptoed across the creaking, carpet coated wooden floorboards that line my dormitory, past the mass of innocent, but ignorant, sleeping bodies.
In a ground floor bedsit at eleven o clock I received the signal from a friendly chap, who lying in bed, was checking out the latest extent of his side burns. Within a few seconds, I had climbed out of the window and was falling gracefully to the floor after scrambling over a wall.
It had hit me, an adrenaline high. Unable to walk due to the adrenaline flowing through me I jogged down the road with perfect awareness and senses completely mobilised. Lights were still on in many houses; there was a vacant space where a blue Ford Escort usually sat. I ran up through an old army barracks which, recently converted, now housed old army veterans. At 11:14, I reached the train station. I ran through the subway to the northbound platform. It was a typical station; pretty empty the occasional plastic bag floating by.
I sat on a bench next to three people I knew very well but I remained silent; lit a cigarette to calm my nerves and waited for the 11:15 to London. The train screeched to a stop. I swung the door open and leapt in; the three people followed me. We all went right to the back of the train and sat in the back carriage.
“Everything all right?” Lujan asked. Everyone nodded. I went to the end of the carriage and peered out from behind the last chair. He looked more like death than the ticket collector but we all piled into the toilet anyway. The footsteps of the ticket collector echoed under the doorway and then faded away again. We went back to the seats we previously occupied. We had a beer each and drunk to freedom. I left the group and went to the section between the carriages. I opened the window and leaned out.
The fresh night air tasted crisp and refreshing. I watched as fields glided by under the light of the moon, with the occasional village station providing the only sign of life. The trees, orderly positioned, swayed slightly in the slight chill wind. The smell of manure occasionally drifted through the half open window. The edge of the window felt cold against my hands as I leaned out and looked forward at the scenery racing towards me. I reflected on what a beautiful place the world was. There are so many different paths to take in life; so many ways to the end. I had been born into a certain a path, a similar path to that of most people at my school. As they all lie there in bed I am on the train; feeling this emotion, looking at other paths. I could be a rice farmer in China, or a lifeguard in Hawaii. There are so many possibilities. It is for that reason that I am here leaning out of the window on this train on my way to London.
I returned to the back carriage and relaxed on a soft seat by the window stimulated by the buzz of excitement. I gazed across to where Jarvy and Fernandez had just fallen asleep, with their eyes emitting the same rays of nervous excitement they had on the platform despite now being closed. The train resumed its journey through the desolate nighttime countryside. Carrying a few people all whom were walking their own path; some conforming to what they believed, others just ill fated casualties of society. My ears popped as a tunnel flew overhead. I shut my eyes to get some sleep. I got none.
At fifteen minutes to one, I looked out of the window and saw a sign: ‘Clapham Junction’. Nearly there, I thought to myself, but was that actually relevant? Did I want to go to London, or was I just after the excitement? I glanced over to the other window and, through the smoke; I could just make out a no-smoking sticker. I was happy.
I was feeling an emotion that one in a million people have felt. An emotion that all my year, asleep in my dormitory, will never experience. Why me? How am I different?