Hola. It’s me—your friendly school building. Escuela de Guadalupe, to be precise. You might know me best when I’m full of footsteps and laughter, but right now… well, I’m mostly echo and memory thanks to the summer recess.
It’s summer.
At first, I admit it was glorious. The last bell rang in May and everyone exploded into summer like a shaken soda can. Parents wheeled out cartloads of art projects. Teachers cleaned sticky desks. Students high-fived everything with hands… or paws. Even I exhaled—a long, happy exhale that swept through my hallways like a breeze: “Ahhh… descanso.”
But here we are in July, and I’ve had just about enough of the quiet.
Fresh Floors and Lonely Lights
Yes, I got a makeover. ¡Qué elegancia! My new floors in the hallways, stairwells, and cafeteria shine like a fresh pair of zapatos on the first day of school. I can’t wait to see students skid down my new stair treads, even though I’ll groan theatrically about it. The cafeteria is sparkling and smug, humming to herself, “Mira qué bonita soy,” every time the business staff walks through.
Speaking of the staff…
They’re still here. Kind of. Poor Nicky, Caroline, Zoe, Janalee, Julie, and Sandra. They walk in every morning like clockwork, sticking to a busy summer schedule. But their lights keep turning off—motion sensors, you know—because they sit too still. Sometimes I see them wandering the halls, sipping cold coffee, sighing at bulletin boards that haven’t changed since May. “Is it August 14 yet?” they whisper. I flicker a hallway light in response. Not yet.
Classrooms That Miss You
My classrooms were thrilled to be empty at first. Think of them like introverts after a long fiesta. Ms. Maribel’s room curled up and took a nap. Mr. Sean’s classroom muttered, “Just five more minutes,” every time the maintenance crew came by. But it’s been weeks now, and they’re twitching with anticipation. The whiteboards miss being covered in ideas. The rugs miss little shoes. The desks keep rearranging themselves out of boredom.
One morning, I caught Ms. Miriam’s room trying to tape a construction paper sign to itself that read “¡Bienvenidos estudiantes!” in wobbly handwriting. The tape didn’t hold. I shed a few ceiling tiles in laughter.
The Playground’s Lament
Out back, the playground stares longingly at the fence line. No shrieks of tag. No kicks of the soccer ball. Just the occasional squirrel, who, frankly, lacks imagination.
“I used to be the centro del universo,” the slide sighed dramatically last week. “Now I’m just… warm plastic.”
Don’t worry, querida. The kids are coming.
A Howling Gym and a Wandering Cape
Inside, the gym remains heroic. Still. Strong. Proud. The Lobo in the center of the floor waits like a sentinel. Some nights, when the moonlight hits just right, I swear I hear him howl—a soft, echoing “Auuuuuuuuuu…” that floats through my vents. He misses the stampede of students during P.E. He dreams of dodgeballs.
Meanwhile, the Valores Hero cape is restless. It’s been fluttering through classrooms, searching for a student to wrap around. One week, it perched dramatically on Ms. Sandra’s office chair. Another day, it zoomed down the hall and tried to land on the janitor’s mop. “¡No es lo mismo!” it grumbled, and sulked behind the copy machine.
The Curious Case of the Bathroom Ghost
Now, I shouldn’t gossip, but… the bathrooms have been weird.
Without constant foot traffic, they’ve developed opinions. The upstairs girls’ bathroom keeps flushing itself at odd intervals, just to feel useful. The boys’ bathroom downstairs held a protest last week—turned on every hand dryer at once for six full minutes. I had to cut the power.
“Lo siento,” I told them. “They’ll be back soon.”
A Buzz in the Walls
Here’s the thing. Even now, even in the stillness, there’s a buzz—an energy in my bones. Not a ghost, don’t be dramatic. More like a hopeful hum. A warmth in the floors. A flicker in the lights.
It’s growing.
Each day, I feel it getting stronger. The countdown to August 14 is ticking louder. The classrooms are waking up. The playground stretches in the morning sun. The cape is fluffing itself. The business staff? They’re smiling more, even laughing. The lights are staying on longer.
And me? I’m getting ready to throw the doors wide open.
Because soon—so soon—I’ll be filled again with bilingual voices shouting, “¡Buenos días!” and “Good morning!” I’ll feel backpacks bumping my walls and sneakers squeaking across my perfect new floors. I’ll hear laughter, lessons, and that one kid who always forgets their lunchbox.
I’ll be Escuela again.
See you soon, estudiantes. I’ve missed you more than you know.
—Con cariño,
Your Building
