Looking back on it all now, I didn't want to jump. But saying that that is where things
went wrong is probably lacking hindsight, because the thing that got me into this
situation had been boiling over for almost a year. It was only a matter of time before it
all became too much and I got roped into the position I am in right now, feeling a harsh
wind blowing over my face as I fall and fall and fall. I guess I have quite a while to think
about this actually.
Most people would tell you, fondly looking back on their college years, that it was
the best years of their lives. These people are crazy, or amnesiacs. Because I can pretty
clearly remember being in tears at the end of every week, having failed to adequately
stare down the pile of tests and papers that my course load had given me. I escaped my
junior year with a suffering GPA and no prospect for Grad school and no internship
program that would accept me. But things were about to get worse, in a very big and
very scary way. It started with the email.
“Dear Ms. Beverly Walker,
It has come to our attention that you have failed a required class and must
retake it; however with the current pace you are keeping you would be unable to finish
your degree within the next year. We suggest you plan a meeting with your academic
advisor so that you can plan a strategy to graduate either on time or after a summer or
semester of extra studies.
Signed
Assistant Dean Gretchen Winslow”
Panic is such a simple, short little word, but I really do think that it fits many
situations very well. It especially fits the situations where you discover that you might
have to pay for another semester of college after racking up tens of thousands of dollars
of loans as it is. It also fits when you realize that you might have to graduate later than
you expected. Thinking of the word now, it almost calms me, in a sort of ironic cosmic
joke sort of way. For a word that means to lose all hope and freak out, it works so well in
so many situations that it puts me at ease to think that it is always there for me.
So, a half hour of hyperventilation and a quick phone call later and I was all set to
meet up with my academic advisor. My advisor, Francine Oplin, was this plump little
woman who was always wearing the same black knit jacket over some god-awful ugly
dress. She was a sweet lady though, and had spent quite a few hours helping me with my
various academic problems. I met up with her the next afternoon.
She was, of course, wearing a patterned dress with what might have been flowers or
might have been drips of neon paint on a dark background. The knit jacket hung on the
back of her desk chair, as it was unseasonably hot for September. She was busying
herself with little things when I came in, moving around office supplies and breathing
heavily through her mouth. She beckoned for me to come in and sit down.
“You know, they should have sent you this before summer registration not in the fall.
You would have had more time,” she said as she took her own seat and folded her
chubby hands on the desk.
“I wish they had because now I feel like I have this huge deadline over my head that I
am definitely going to miss. I'm really glad you could see me so soon.” I was feeling
better just sitting in her office. It smelled of flowers and cleanliness, the way an older
woman would want her house to smell. The way I would like my apartment to smell, but
just can't quite get it to.
“I have bad news Bev. There is no feasible way for you to graduate on time. Even if
you took a two extra classes these next two semesters you wouldn't make it. I'm sorry
hon.” Her voice was soft and gentle, but matter of fact. She frowned slightly after she
was finished.
“Wow. There's really no way at all?” I'm sure I sounded devastated.
“No. You'd have to take another semester, maybe two due to the way the classes fall.”
She was still frowning, but trying to make me feel better with the tone of her voice.
“What can I do then?” The question started from wanting to know how to schedule
my classes, but a gentle sob at the end of my sentence revealed that I literally had no
clue what to do anymore. College was supposed to be what people did. When you
finished high school, you did college, and then you got a job. My life was unraveling,
like a scarf on a fence post in the wind, each little gust making it smaller and smaller.
“Do you want my honest opinion at this point?” She looked me right in the eyes. I
nodded.
“Drop out.” She responded instantly to my confused look, “Beverly I've never met
anyone who has disliked college so much but kept trying so hard to finish. Be honest
with yourself: you hate it here.”
She was shockingly accurate. From the moment I got to school I had disliked the
people, my roommate, the classes, and the pace of my studies. It seemed dismal from the
outset but I had stubbornly continued despite it all.
“You really think that's the best idea?” I asked.
“For you, it would be like a break after a long ordeal. You don't need a degree to be
successful.” She smiled, finally. And so did me.
“It's a shame, I almost made it,” I said placidly.
“Yeah, almost.” She got back up and started tidying things again.
So, working as a check-out girl at the grocery store, despite all the grumpy people
and the long hours, was like a break. I had enough money to pay my rent and bills. I
started meeting people in my building instead of obsessing over homework every night.
I was at a party one night when this girl started talking about something that caught my
attention.
“It is exhilarating. Like nothing I've ever tried before. Unreal.” She laughed with the
group of inebriated girls around her.
“What's exhilarating?” I asked, trying to edge myself into the conversation.
“Oh, I'll take you with me next time, you live downstairs right? I'll just knock on your
door the next time I go, OK?” She talked fast, and I didn't expect her to actually come to
see me, but she did.
So here I am. Wind roaring past my face, the ground getting closer moment by
moment. I look up and the girl from my building is signaling to her back. I pull the cord
and my chute opens. The last minute or so, we sink slowly toward the ground. As we
land, I look over at her and she gives me a big thumbs up.
“We went too early. We almost made it!” She yells over the wind.
“What?” I yell back as she points to a target in the grass.
“Almost! But we were close, right?” She gives me a hug after I detach my pack.
“Close enough, if you ask me.” As I hug her back, I smile.
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