But I already graduated! Kindergarten conveyor belt

My pre-school graduation had a cap and gown ceremony. It was the first time I wore make-up. I had just recovered from the chicken pox and needed a little cover up for some of the spots that were recovering. From my understanding, caps and gowns mean school is over, or so I thought.

You can imagine how surprised I was when I was awoken early a few days after my fifth birthday. I was dressed in my favorite color green, photographed, fed and led out the door. Next thing I know I'm standing in front of a classroom, holding my mom's hand and watching weeping children being led, one by one, through the door like lambs to a slaughter. Why were they all crying? What was going on? I already graduated! I looked up at my mom and told her that, "but I already graduated." She just smiled and continued to pull me closer to that blue door. I panicked. I ripped my hand from my mother and tore out of there. I bolted into the parking lot, dodging cars, looking around wildly, an animal just escaped from the circus.

I can remember being out of breath, frantic. I didn't know where to go, but I was going. Cars were braking, and I kept weaving. That is, until I got caught. I was taken back to the classroom, all the while uttering, "but I already graduated! but I already graduated!"

I fought back tears. I had an automatic stop button that prevented me from crying in public. No matter how hard I struggled, those big fat pools of water busted out as I realized that there was no hope. I was strapped to the kindergarten conveyor belt. I was ushered in to the RED table, which was stupid because it wasn't red, but that's where the folded piece of cardboard was that had my name. It was the table closest to the door. Well, that was the least they could do.