Behind the Mask: Real Stories of Middle Schoolers During Covid19

Before
Dec 2020

Long before Coronavirus hit, before masks and distancing, everything seemed fine. The snow was falling over Cooks restaurant. Christmas was only a week away, and all I could think about was what to buy for my family. My grandpa was sitting next to me at the table, having just come all the way from Iowa. As I debate over giving my brother a t-shirt or a game for Christmas, a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese gets placed in front of me. I offer a smile of thanks to the waitress before diving in. Its cheesy aroma fills our table’s warm space, illuminated by the bright light of the window overlooking the ocean. A young family with small boys sits at the table adjacent to us, and I frown as the boy wails, sending a spoon crashing to the floor. Sometimes I wished that my family were the only people in the world, that way, I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else. My attention turns to my grandpa as he talks to my brother.
“So, how are you doing now? Hows your schoolwork holding up with being away?” My grandpa says, waving a french fry around. My brother had mono for the last few months and had been doing schoolwork from his bed. “It's hard doing schoolwork on a screen for so long, but hopefully, I’ll get to return to school shortly," my brother mumbles around a mouthful of fish. I wish I could do schoolwork from my bed. That would make life so much easier, I think to myself.
“How about you, Kira,” My grampa smiles, “How's your life going?”
“Good, I’m looking forward to summer, though,” I say, twirling cheese around my fork. My grandpa laughs, his eyes twinkling.
“Don’t wish your life away!" He smiles.
“It's just I could be doing so much more educational things than learning about equations and metaphors. I could be in Paris, studying french architecture, or in the Bahamas, swimming with fish.”
“School is important," My dad says firmly, "But we are on sabbatical this summer. There's a pretty good chance we’ll take you somewhere then.”
The conversation moves to desserts, and the waitress comes back with blueberry cheesecake drizzled with syrup. My mouth waters, and soon I forget about school. Why be in France when you could be here? I had no idea that would be the last time I would see my grandpa in over a year.

In the Beginning
March 2020

It was a Friday, thankfully. Soon it would be the weekend, and I wouldn’t have to worry about school for two whole days. Or so I thought. In social studies, we watch the usual CNN 10. I don’t pay attention; it’s just the usual. I notice that they talk about a new Covid-19 outbreak and how it’s moved to parts of the U.SA. Apparently, they’re shutting schools down in some places. I fiddle with a pencil, mildly interested. After class, I head to the room to eat lunch. Some of my friends won a lunch in the classroom, and they invited me to join. I plop myself down in an old ocean-blue bean-bag chair, smiling as I pull leftover pizza from my lunch box. The smell of cafeteria lunch fills the air, and my friends sit down around me. We talk about sports, homework, and the growing spread of covid.
“It’s just a matter of time before it comes to Maine,” One of them says, putting down their lunch tray. I frown, munching on my pizza. What would happen if coronavirus came to Maine? Would we still go to school? Soon, noise fills the hall, and kids begin to file into the classroom. A student asks the teacher the very question that had taken over my brain,
“Will schools close because of covid?”
The teacher smiles, setting papers down on her desk.
“I doubt it, and if the school did close, they would likely re-open it shortly,” She replies. I frown. That had answered precisely zero of my questions. School went on as usual, and soon, I was doing math homework on my couch. The phone rings insistently, and I pay it no mind until an automated robotic voice says,
“MSAD 75.” I immediately sit up, on high alert. Could this be it? Could our school be following the same path as the schools we heard about on CNN10? The message goes to voicemail, and I hurry over to the counter to listen. My eyes widen as the phone plays, and I lean so that my nose almost touches the phone. It had happened. The school would be closed on Monday to set plans for further closure. I somehow knew that it would be closed for longer than that. I didn’t know how to feel. I welcomed the break from school, but what about other things? If this was going in the direction of what they were talking about on CNN10, what would be next? Would we have lockdowns? Frowning, I sit back on the couch, curious as to what would happen next.

Struggle
November 2020

In early November, we had to put my cat down. I was back at school two days a week, struggling with balancing remote learning and real life. Tucker was 8 when we first picked him up at the shelter. When he passed, he was 18. I was three years old when we brought him home, wide-eyed and amazed that I had a pet to call my own. I remember my first time in the car with him; I stuck my finger in his tiny box and touched his soft pink nose. Now, I watch as Tucker is taken away from me, put in the carrier, and taken to the vet for the last time.
“Goodbye,” I whisper, voice soft and quivering. I can’t face my mom now, and my brother is hulled up downstairs. I had always hoped that Tucker would pass away peacefully in his sleep, but of course, life wouldn’t go that easy on me. No, we had spent the last month forcing giant pills down his throat that he could barely swallow and watching him blindly run into objects around the house. I tried to keep up a positive attitude, laughing as much as possible, but it was no use. Every rock breaks at some point. Now, I walk up the stairs, my toes sinking into the deep fuzz of the carpet. I smell the rice from the kitchen that we had eaten earlier, and my stomach growls. I tell myself that this is not the time for food. Eventually, I make my way to my bed and slowly open my laptop. Even though it felt like the end of the world, it was technically a school day, and I had work to do. I stare at the massive amount of math homework I have, gaping at how anyone would expect that a person could do that much.
“Does he know we have a life besides from math?” I grumble to myself, trying to keep calm. Online learning has been a struggle. I am left most days with dizzy, tired eyes, head spinning from so many hours on a screen. I know I can’t stop though, grades come before all else. Grades don’t stop for personal issues or stress, and if you fail in school, you can never move on in life. I tell myself this, trying to distract myself from the looming pain. I stare at the screen, but no matter how hard I look at it, I can’t seem to make myself read a single problem. I hear birds singing outside and frown. How could the birds be so happy with all that was going on? Didn’t they know that the world was literally dying? I pull my curtains shut, feeling the darkness soak over me. I couldn’t afford to take a break; I couldn’t afford to fail.

I remember early 2020. Everything was so perfect then, so much different than how it was now. Why didn’t I have more fun back then? Why didn’t I hang out with my friends more? I paused, realization washing over me. It was because I was obsessed with what I wanted, with what could be better. I continually thought about what was wrong with my life. I lay down, head sinking into the cushioned pillows. I stare up at the boards of my top bunk, looking at the little marks I had made when I was younger. There was a knot in the wood that used to keep me up at night; it looked like a face screaming. I had drawn a mustache on it, named it Fred, and pretended that it was singing. Years later, the mustache is faded. Back then, I didn’t want more from my life; I just made it the best it could be. Did I need to get good grades all the time? No. My cat just passed away; I shouldn’t be worrying about making my teachers happy. Instead of finishing my homework, I shut the lid and pull the covers up over me. It was ok that I needed a break. Life could wait.

Afterword
December 2020

Moving on was hard, but after a while, I got used to the rhythms of school. I barely recognize the faces surrounding me, masked and emotionless. The classroom is dark, and the curtains were drawn against the snow flurrying down outside. I squint my eyes up at the board, trying to stay awake for the last couple of hours of school. The dry, suffocating feeling of cloth on my face pushes me down into my seat. In March 2020, it would have bothered me to no end. Now I’ve come to terms with the idea that I have bigger things to think about than the everyday annoyances of covid life.
“Could you solve problem three, Kira?” A voice breaks through my cloudy thoughts, forcing me to come into the real world. I look down on my paper, crumpled pasty sheet crawling with little numbers. I can’t bring myself to comprehend the tiny ants on my page and instead respond with a meek,
“I haven’t got that one yet.” I fiddle with my pencil, not daring to look up. The class moves on, and I catch little droning phrases here and there. Soon I hear the telltale sound of papers being shoved carelessly into backpacks and tired blue chairs screeching out from desks. Managing to hoist my bag around a shoulder, I trudge out of class, exhausted. The daily flow of school and life was not perfect, but it was ok. Accepting that the world had turned to trash was not exactly the best feeling, but it allowed me to go with the flow. I was a leaf in a river; it was pointless to push back.
I stare at the red-carpeted floor, grimacing at old goldfish and dirt tracks. I quickly wave to my friends, then plop my bag on my desk. Only one class to go through until freedom. I wish that life could go back to the way it was before, when hanging out with friends was a regular occurrence and going out in public wasn’t a death sentence. However, I tried to make the most of it. I was glad that I could go to school and see my friends, despite my tired demeanor. Every day, I tried to think of the good things that had happened to me; that way, I would stop worrying about the bad. I kept telling myself that it was only a matter of time before things would return to normal. At this point, I almost believed it.

Moving on
Later, Dec 2020

Later that December, I’m clad in an oversized puffy jacket, more a marshmallow than a person. My breath puffs out in short white clouds, and snow drifts lazily down before me. I pull my sled behind me, panting as I stagger up the long sledding hill. I laugh as one of my friends falls, flopping into the soft puffy snow. Positioning my sled, I push off, gliding down to the shimmering waters beyond the hill. Wind whips at my hair, pushing me forward. Then it’s all over. My dad’s car honks, and I have to leave. I wave goodbye to my friends and push myself into the soft seat cushions, music drifting through the car. This time last year, I was sitting with my grandpa, gorging myself on mac and cheese. I would go back if I could and tell myself not to worry so much.
“Have a good time?” My dad asks, not paying attention to me. His eyes focus on a loud motorcyclist driving past us, and I know he doesn’t expect me to answer the question.
“Yup,” I whisper, curling my fingers around my seatbelt. Then I pause, thoughts bubbling in my head.
“Actually, It was really fun. The hill there is great,” I continue, eyes twinkling. To my surprise, my dad smiles, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
“Good to hear that!” He responds. We continue talking, and eventually, I let myself relax.
A few minutes later, we pull up to our driveway, and I hop out. My feet thud up the stairs, and I collapse onto my bed. Today was a good day, a great day. For once, I let myself have fun without worrying about school or work. I reach up to the curtains, pulling them open and letting the bright sun wash over my face. Birds sing sweet songs outside, and the icicle-tipped trees sway in the wind. My face splits into a grin; I was glad to let myself breathe. I look at Fred one more time. Ultimately, I decide that he isn’t screaming with fear; he’s was yelling with joy.