Hearing a sound behind me, I turned to investigate. The classroom was as empty as I thought it had been. It was then I knew that the long hours of homework were getting me down.

I heard the sound again and turned. "Hello?" I questioned.

"Not hello, but goodbye," came a ghostly reply.

"Goodbye?" I said, wondering where the voice had come from.

"Goodbye. Goodbye."

Suddenly I understood. The school was extending its farewell to me, a senior. There were a few weeks left, and I thought the sentiment was a bit premature. "Not yet, friend," I replied.

"Yes, now boy. Say goodbye. Time goes fast. Views change. Things stay the same," the voice finished.

"Views change. Things stay the same," I repeated. "That's true, friend. I like that. But tell me who you are?" I asked.

No one, nothing, answered me. There was no sound except the heater by the window. "Hey, who are you?" I queried again.

"I'm your history teacher," came a voice from the front of the room. "Who are you talking to? This is supposed to be a detention period."

"Sorry," I amended. I couldn't see anyone else in he room besides him except me, and I figured that I would never find out where the voice had come from.

A few weeks later, I began to think about the episode. It was then I realized that the voice in the room had been mine; ‑ that the school was not saying goodbye to me, but I was saying goodbye to the school; ‑ goodbye to myself as a boy and hello as a man with different views on life.