Walk A Mile - College Road

Alright, folks, I know this one is kinda long, but trust me - it's well worth it.  (For an explanation of the Walk a Mile series, click here.)  Nick is our guest writer today, and he's you're average college student - but not an average writer.  He's actually pretty brilliant.  Let's go for a walk...

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I hate alarm clocks. Seriously. Nothing is worse than being pulled from your seventh hour of sleep to realize that classes, tests, and that reading assignment you can “do later” but never got to are all that await you that day. Not to mention, it's cold. And not even daylight yet. I mean, seriously. Farmers aren't even up that early! Stupid alarm clock. Bane of my existence, I swear...

And so I call in my trusty side kick: the snooze button.

Half an hour later I literally leap out of bed, suddenly aware that class starts in fifteen minutes and that a shower is not realistic today. I move like the Flash trying to find a shirt and a pair of jeans that are clean enough to make it through a day that is already starting so well... Yeah...

A dash of deodorant, a quick tooth brushing, and a dash to my car and I think I'm going to make it. Ten minutes is more than enough time to go from the parking lot to class. But then, I hit morning traffic. But it’s not on the streets. Actually, traffic's moving pretty well there. The problem is in the parking lot. You see, the university has this funny habit of giving more parking passes than spots. So, like the other fifty cars south of campus, I begin circling the lot like a vulture, trying to be the first to spot an empty space, or to catch someone on their way back from class.

One person walks onto the lot, obviously heading to their car to leave. Half the cars jump into overdrive trying to get to him first, but some obnoxious freshman who just pulled into the parking lot lines up behind him, officially claiming him. Crap.

The funny part is that the kid in the car will just follow the walker. Moving slow, like a predator, but who doesn't know he's far from subtle. Sometimes, when someone follows me to my car to claim my space, I just weave through the aisles, throwing him off and making him panic a bit. Brightens my day. That's for sure.
But this morning, the parking lot is not going to work. I head back to the street, scanning the sides of the road for an open space. Finally, I find one. Three blocks from campus. So much for being on time. On my way, I pass lines of parking spaces simply unused, with large “A” signs guarding them from the students. The administration lots never get filled, and the spaces go to waste. Students resort to roaming the parking lots, and the circle of life continues.

After a brisk morning jog to campus, I'm sitting in American Humanities, laptop up, ready to get down to business. The professor starts out with his almost sad attempt to bond with youth, joking and trying to feel like one of us. Come on, man, you're embarrassing yourself. You teach humanities, for heaven's sake! Outside of an art museum, this class is pointless, so let's try to do this as painlessly as possible.

I've already got my own coping device up and ready. While humanities notes may be on the computer screen, just below that Facebook is whirring with the morning news. Between jotting down notes about Frank Lloyd Wright and whatever he built, I drop in to see what everyone's been up to since 1 am when I went to bed. Not much. A couple funny pics. A link to a music video on Youtube. And in the corner, the chat box is buzzing with a conversation with an old companion, who isn't paying attention in his own class. More girl trouble. Typical. You'd think he'd just learn not to care what they think. Yeah. That's going to happen.

Honestly, I don’t know why he’s trying so hard. Dating just leads to relationships, leads to marriage, kids, etc. Not that those things are bad, but they bring so many problems along with them. I mean, dating is really just an awkward dinner between two people who don’t really know why they’re there. And a relationship is a constant puzzle of trying to get what you need from someone who has no idea what that is. Marriage is just cementing that into place. And at a time like this, who wants to worry about that?

The professor walks by, and I quickly switch back to notes. He's got to know that we're online. I mean, if he's a professor he can't be that dumb. With the world at my fingertips, 19th century American art just can't compete.

A class discussion starts, and I tune in with one ear as I continue to chat with my old comp. A familiar voice start talking. Ugh. Not him again. Every class has a guy like this. And at my university, there's usually several. That one guy that feels the need to comment on everything. Just so he knows he's smart and important. Most of the time he gets done talking, not really having said anything. But in a college classroom, he sounded like a philosophical genius. Just wait until graduation day, buddy. The real world is going to tear you apart. But then again, I kind of feel bad for him. Any guy that wears slacks and a button up shirt to class must be trying to fill some kind of void in his life. But whatever. I can handle this guy for five minutes, three times a week.

Finally, class is over. I close Facebook, and my notes pop up. Yeah... not quite as elaborate as they should have been. Oh, well. It's only a GE course. Besides, with the study guide's help, I'll ace the test.

I head over to the student union building to grab a bite before my next class. Gotta love the breaks on campus. Perfect opportunities to catch up on homework. Or, to do absolutely nothing. But in public. I buy a pizza bagel for 75 cents, and throw in a chocolate milk for a buck fifty. Well, there's half of my daily food fund. Good thing there's left over pizza in the fridge!

The SU building is usually pretty busy in the day. But I like it that way. It makes me feel like part of a living, thriving system. Finding an empty spot on a couch out of the way I settle in with my breakfast and survey the people around me. A couple girls are sitting at a table, chatting and having a small bite to eat. My old comp comes to mind again. Poor guy just doesn't get girls. But then again, no one really does. We live in their natural habitat, watch them day to day, but they'll never make sense. Whatever.

To the left of them, an Asian student types away at his laptop, glancing now and then at a textbook. He's probably working on a paper that isn't even due for a week, in a class he's going to ace. I chuckle a little to myself. Stereotypes would stop being so funny if they weren't everywhere. I'd hate to see him drive.

On the other side, a young couple is sitting close, textbooks open and forgotten on the table. You can see it in their eyes, the flirtation, the guessing game over emotions playing back and forth. It seems so ridiculous, so pointless. But they eat it up.

A few more people sit studying, eating, texting. Going through the daily motions of college life. I take a bite of my pizza bagel and wash it down with a swig of chocolate milk. Mmm. Breakfast of the gods.

Turning to my backpack I pull out my latest book. No, not a textbook, though that's what I should probably be reading. This is my latest find from the fiction section of the bookstore. One I found during my regular study of the books. This one is pretty good. The writer knows what he's doing. I open to the page I saved and begin to read, completely falling away from the college world into a place I've never been.

I love reading. For me, that is. Not for my professors. I love being pulled into a story and exploring far off places and meeting dynamic and powerful characters. Really, this is where I want to end up. In stories. Yeah, I may be in school getting a degree to work in the real world, but that's not the end result. It's only a means to an end. I want to write. I want to create worlds and people that I love reading about. One day, I'll hold a freshly printed novel, and my name will be on the cover. That day will be a great day. Better than graduation day. That's for sure. I've even know the story I want to write first. It's been brewing in my mind for years. It still has some refining and polishing to go, but this is the one. The one I can't let go of.

I haven't written it yet. Not the bulk of it. I still have just a little bit more schooling to finish. And I don't mean schooling with classes and grades. Certainly not with alarm clocks. That's not where I learn to weave a masterful story. Rather than hearing it from professors, I learn the art from the masters. Back in my dorm room, books on writing by Terry Brooks, Orson Scott Card, Donald Maass, and John Truby line my shelves. These are the ones who know the art. They're the ones in the middle of it. Rather than spend my time in classes on campus learning to write, I learn from them. I learn from the painters, rather than the art teachers. And they're brilliant.

The hour passes faster than I expect, and I'm off to another class. This one slightly better than the last. This class happens to be in the basement of the building. Which means, unfortunately, no wi-fi, and no cell phone reception. Normally, that would be a problem. But seeing as I'm behind on my homework for my third class, I don't mind. I'll finish that instead.

I pull open the text book and work as I listen to the lecture. I still can't understand how these professors get away with the work load they hand out. Each one assigns ten to twenty pages of reading per class. That adds up when you have three or four classes a day. In reality, it's just not plausible.

They say that for every hour in class, you should spend two out of class working on the course material. In a three class day, that adds up to nine hours. And if you are like most students (i.e. poor) you have to work four hours a day just to keep the pizza bagels and chocolate milk on the table. So now we're up to thirteen hours. Add in travel time, meals, social time (which is, in fact, more of a necessity than you think), and sleep, and you're working off of a 26 hour day. Personally, I never went far enough with physics classes to learn to mess with the time-space continuum. Well, maybe I did. I might have been on Facebook during that part. Not sure.

When I started freshman year, I was told that there are four aspects of college life: Social, Grades, Money (work), and Sleep. However, you can only have three of the four. You have to leave one out. How's that for a conundrum? (Yeah, I said conundrum. In college you can say things like that and not get beat up.) Personally, I tend to go back and forth between losing sleep and skipping on the class readings. I just like fun and money too much.

Speaking of money, classes are finally over, and I'm off to work. I cross campus, nearly at a jog, trying to get to my car (which is, if you remember, three blocks away) and get to work in the next ten minutes.
Today, the gods of traffic smile upon me, and I make it in time to punch in right at one o'clock.

You know how they say that too much of a good thing is a bad thing? Well, I work in a world like that. The campus bakery is a utopia of cookies, brownies, cakes, and anything else packed with sugar. The smell alone is intoxicating. But when education week demands several hundred pans of chocolate mint brownies, you realize that the streets of confectionary heaven are paved by the slaves of a high-calorie underworld. We spend all day pumping out desserts for customers who believe that treats magically appear on the shelves, never once thinking about the massive undertaking it is to make that two-dollar brownie a possibility. Makes you wonder what else we take for granted.

Work is long, and by the end of the day, I know I won’t be paid what I should be. But I guess few people are. I walk out into the dark night, finishing off another round in a continuing cycle. I’m exhausted, but homework awaits. I park at my complex, but after I turn off the car, I decide I’d rather delay hitting the books and take a walk. It’s a nice night. Cool, but nice.

I wander up toward campus, hands buried in my sweatshirt and hood over my head. Traffic is slowing down, and life is turning from duty, to pleasure. The social world comes out and people get together to laugh and to have a life. I feel somewhat removed from it all tonight, and I don’t know that I’m disappointed by it. Sometimes it all seems so superficial. When you lay down at the end of the day, you don’t have any of that. All that’s left is the mark the day has left on you, and the world you make for yourself.

I pass campus and the lights become fewer as I reach the residential area of town. A little further is the park. I like it there. It’s darker, and it lets me think. Others are out walking tonight, too. One or two groups of friends hurrying to one or the other’s apartment. And a couple walking close, using one another for warmth. They pass me, starting their nightly rounds around town, braving the cold just to spend a little more time together.
People put so much effort into those things, into relationships, and just watching them, I know that they still need so much more than they’re getting. They go through each day, braving parking lots and mid-terms and papers and minimum wage work, just for those couple of freezing hours each night. They put up with inadequacy and insecurity, always trying to make sure they do everything just right so that this one can work. So that they can get their happy ending. But so many people don’t find it. They invest so much, just to end up feeling empty handed. It’s so messed up. But neither of them knows they need what they need. That’s the catch of it all. They’re pieces in a game they make themselves, and so often, no one wins.

Finally, I get to the park. A few people still dot the field, but most have gone home to escape the cold night. Above me, stars spill out endlessly, painting a velvet canvas with light. No moon tonight. It’s better that way. There’s a beauty in the isolation darkness brings. We have no one to communicate with but ourselves, and we tend to open up more, spilling our inner pieces before us, mirroring the stars.

As I walk to my favorite spot, I can feel that process beginning with me. I sit on the bench overlooking the field and the city, and the last of my guards and masks fall away. I see the constellations of my past take form, and younger days when I didn’t seem so jaded return. It’s almost funny to me, to be somewhat of a cynic, as young as I am. But sometimes the world doesn’t prove itself any better.

There’s movement to my right, down by the entrance to the park. Another couple walks into the park, a four-legged silhouette against the street lights. Another couple of pawns circling the game board. We all play the game. And we’re so unoriginal. We all pick the park.

My bench feels cold. The bench was my game board. It was here I rolled the dice. Here we took our turns. Here that I lost.

It’s a cruel game. A lavender scented self-torture. It’s sadistic, and desperate, and foolish.

But deep down, I can’t lie. I really miss playing.