Reclaiming the Sand
Page 15

We were given the syllabus and I looked it over, not recognizing any of the books on the list. I wanted to kick myself for not paying more attention in high school. But the books I tended to read were of the non-fiction variety. I loved reading biographies and true account stories. I enjoyed immersing myself in other people’s lives. Because they were usually a hell of a lot better than mine.
“Hello everyone! I’m Professor Smith. I’ve been teaching here at Black River Community College for ten years. I graduated with a Masters degree in English Literature from the University of Virginia…”
I tuned him out around that point. I could care less about his life history or what brought him to little ole Wellsburg. And looking around the room, I wasn’t alone in my complete and utter disinterest.
I stared out the window, already zoning out. Classrooms and teachers had an almost Pavlovian affect on me. Sitting in a desk had me mentally checking out in less than thirty seconds. So much for trying to change.
I only snapped out of when someone patted my arm. I wrenched backwards, startling the person who was trying to get my attention.
“Sorry, but we’re supposed to be getting into small groups to talk about what we’ve already read on the syllabus. Then we have to choose one and discuss the plot and themes,” a young girl with pretty red hair and an overly large mouth said nervously.
Okay, time to play contentious college student.
“Sure,” I muttered, picking up my book bag and moving my desk over to join the three other students who had already started talking amongst themselves.
“Hi, I’m Casey,” redheaded, big mouth said. Everyone nodded as though we cared what her name was.
“I’m Davis.” A skinny kid with big ears spoke up after Casey was finished introducing herself. What was it with this group and big body parts? Because the next guy, who said his name was Andrew had a nose as long as my arm. Well, not really, but you get the picture.
Now that the three of them had shared their names, they looked at me expectantly. I supposed this was my cue to play nice.
“Um, yeah. I’m Ellie,” I said, plastering my fakest smile on my face. I think my efforts were perhaps a bit over the top and my smile more closely resembled a psychotic grin, as I watched the slight recoil from my fellow students.
“Hi, Ellie!” Casey chirped, clearing her throat. Obviously she had deigned herself our unofficial group leader.
“Let’s have a look at the syllabus and then we can decide which one to focus on.” Casey cleared her throat again, which was really annoying.
I looked down at the list again, knowing I had nothing to contribute.
“Well, I’ve read the Margaret Atwood short story and the Milton stuff,” Davis piped up.
“Cool! I’ve read those as well in my high school AP class!” Casey enthused.
“I’ve read the Milton and the Keats poem,” Andrew offered.
And then they were looking at me.
“Uh…” I started, making a show of looking at the syllabus.
I must have taken too long because Casey started pointing to the different reading selections.
“Have you read the Atwood story?”
“No.”
“What about Milton? Have you ever read Paradise Lost?”
“No.”
You get the picture. Casey kept asking and I continued giving her my monosyllabic response. My face began to flush red the more it became apparent that I hadn’t read a thing on the list.
When Casey had gone through the entire syllabus, she gave me a puzzled look. “Haven’t you read anything?”
I understand that she most likely didn’t mean for this to sound as condescending as it did. She seemed like a nice, corn fed country girl with her pretty red hair and mouth the size of a football. But she had just royally peeved me off.
I crumpled the syllabus in my hand and leaned toward her. “No, Casey. I haven’t read anything,” I grit out.
Casey blinked a few times, clearly not understanding my aggression.
“Well, you have to have read something in high school. What about the Robert Frost poem? Everyone reads Robert Frost. It’s like sophomore stuff,” Casey said, again putting just enough arrogance in her voice to trigger my anger reflex. Andrew and Davis were keeping quiet. Too bad Miss Too Big Smile didn’t have their common sense.
I brought my fist down on my desk with a loud bang. The classroom went instantly silent. I was used to being the center of unwanted attention, so I didn’t even bat an eye about causing a scene.
“No, I haven’t read any of these stupid f**king stories on this stupid f**king list! While you were sitting in your nice little AP classes, my ass was in juvie, trying not to get raped by a gang of dykes with a thing for blonde girls!” I yelled. I grabbed my book bag and wrenched upwards out of my seat.
“Miss. Wait a minute! Miss!” Professor Smith called out as I slammed out his classroom.
I was breathing heavily by the time I walked back out onto the quad.
I knew there was more than anger bubbling up like acid in the pit of my stomach. I was embarrassed. Ashamed that in a room full of eighteen and nineteen year olds, I was the most ignorant person in the room. Sure I had my fair share of street smarts, but I could never compete in this setting.
This wasn’t a place where knowing how to hotwire a car and evade the police would get you far.
My skillset was limited and most times illegal.
But I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself.