I have lots of memories of highschool that are tied up in the ancient FWCI building. I remember fighting duels against Koosh in the art room with a meter stick clasped firmly in each hand, imagining myself to be some sort of fantasy hero. I remember arriving at school early and sleeping in the corner of the basement that had a warm water pipe underneath it making the usually frigid concrete floor warm and inviting; I kept an afghan made by my grandma in my locker to wrap myself in. I have good memories of playing endless games of Risk on the floor during my spares and bad memories of trying to join the basketball team and being a real failure of a basketball player.
The school closed a few years after I moved on and in my mind it sat there, forlorn and empty, its halls no longer echoing with laughter and tears. When I daydream I sometimes thought about getting myself a pair of bolt cutters from somewhere and sneaking back into the old school to wander around and immerse myself in history and memories both sweet and bitter. I thought about sitting on the bench near the music room, napping in a few of my old niches and trying to remember which classrooms contained which teachers back in the day. This reminds me of one of my favourite BNL songs.
Recently an old friend from Thunder Bay visited and told me that FWCI had been turned into condos. This shouldn't matter to me at all as of course I was never actually going to get myself those bolt cutters and break in; pleasant daydreams are one thing and actual break and enter is another entirely. Regardless of the unrealistic nature of my dreams they are now tainted, made dark with impossibility. I can't fool myself into thinking that some day I will return and things will be just the way they once were; I must face the fact that the world has moved on and you can't go home again.
Truth is a fine thing but it sure has a habit of smashing perfectly good fantasies to little bitty pieces. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.