school funding miracle; opportunity bonds/draft 1

school funding miracle; opportunity bonds/ draft 1

fiction
edward w pritchard

Four flights of heavy double cement stairs lead us up, up, up toward  the blue auditorium, serving today as the site of the community meeting for the roll out of the semi annual opportunity bonds program. A stale smell of cheap institutional food filled the grimy stairwell, the large hall served as cafeteria, meeting hall, and class room.

Water was pouring down the side of stairs toward the distant dripping basement of the sagging building. I trudged the last several steps into the loud airless auditorium. I was coming in the East entrance, reserved for citizens of the community who hadn't went to high school in our district. I was much too old to climb four flights of steep steps, but out of duty and habit I trudged on. The water was running down the stairs because a large water main had again ruptured on the roof of the building. The custodial crews and maintenance men nonchalantly went about their work of a temporary fix oblivious of the crowds in the building, the older visitors like me, and oblivious to the emergency funding problems. Dressed in green jump suits the custodians and janitors dragged wheeled buckets toward the top of the building.

Just as I entered the auditorium an explosive roar; the new freshmen classes burst through the double door two hundred feet to my right. A few students did handstands and flips and several pretty cheerleaders tumbled, rolled, and thundered about as the clapping freshmen class broke out in the opportunity bonds song. About me, in the crowd of local homeowners, I saw a few tired smiles but mostly the senior citizens anxiously looked about for a place to sit.

The teachers milled about nervously, arms folded across their chests. They didn't know how long they would continue to be paid. A fat principal ate a sandwich as she walked about directing traffic and keeping order.

A crescendo of noise drenched the room but the bleachers where I sat were quiet. Most of the older senior homeowners of the community wanted to be quickly assigned their bond requirements and move on with their lives. In a few hours it would be over and we could get back to our homes.

They were handing out the notices to my left. One man was fanning his wife with the yellow contract. I couldn't hear him but I am sure he was comforting his wife, who looked faint. The assessments must be bad, very bad. How much would the school funding miracle cost us this year?
end part 1/ draft 1