september

I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so I never feel silly or dumb asking questions. AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am. A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring. There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings. Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots. Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places. Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky. Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world. There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing. “Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?” My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement. I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass; I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow? I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my a$s people. I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill. In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask. “I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags. As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face. The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.” . . Songs for this: Home by Luke Chiang No Other Plans by Sunny Levine