The itchy red chair, with wooden arms, clashes with the sleekness of the dean’s new office. I sit, unflinchingly, as he rattles off a list of why not’s and not whys. He doesn’t know I’m going to do it anyway. We hover over his computer and I show him exactly which one I want. I needed to jump in, now.
***
The front row is typically where the overachiever will sit. The dark, unlit room is as cold a morgue. As people filter in for the first time, I size up my competition. The clunky textbook in my bag swings as people hit it when they walk by. I hall the massive book from my purse and begin to review it. My stomach is filled with knots. With a flick of a switch the lights brilliantly flash on. It’s time.
***
The stench is similar to formaldehydede. It stings my nose and resonates in my nasal cavity for hours. The complex black microscope I need to use is intimidating the crap out of me. Passed around is a small wooden box full of double-sided glass and unlabeled cells and tissues to discover. I say a silent prayer, please let me find out what you are.
***
My breath is converted into steam in this ice box, but it’s quiet at the very least. My eyes glance over all this information and not seeing a familiar term or concept. The glare of the clock lets me know its time to go in and fake it.
***
The hardened black tables are warmed by the sun, as well as the rest of the room. This comforting atmosphere almost offers me some sort of solace. “Well when my mom was in nursing school she REALLY failed her first exam” (like that’s supposed to make me feel better. “And where does she work now?” “Oh she’s retired now but she worked here at the hospital”. Nice try but the answer I was looking for was Mass General or anywhere else in Boston; and she was a charge nurse to boot.
***
I take a seat with the class pets, armed with a variety of highlighters and my pink bubblegum colored laptop; because I’m not fooling around anymore. My large iced Dunkin’ Donuts beverage hasn’t had the time to condensate and neither do I. I open the machine up and before I know it a blank page is full of new terminology, and another one and another one.
***
The next time I’m in this room, I fill out my name on the small green notebook. Its flimsy as all hell, with only two or three staples keep it together, which is exactly how I feel at this very moment. I had flashcards, study buddies, long hours in the library and pots of coffee to myself. Hockey games were missed, parties went unattended. Here goes nothing.
That's powerful stuff and uses the linked vignettes effectively, devastatingly. Particularly impressive is how each short vignette really is really a tiny stand-alone vignette, not just part of the larger puzzle. There is care here in the parts as well as the whole.
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