I wish you only the best for 2013. Make it your year.
Have you ever watched a horse race,
like the Kentucky Derby, before? You know when the cameras zoom in on the
horses and their jockeys? Make sure that you watch the horses. Their hooves
drive into the soft footing beneath their huge, strong, muscular bodies. Their
eyes are wild and their nostrils flare. They’re chomping at their bits and
pushing against their gates.
That’s how I feel right now. I was
on my third large hot caramel latte with cream and sugar from Dunkin Donuts of
the day. It wasn’t even 5:30 p.m. yet. I checked my watch for about the forth
time in the last three minutes. It read 5:07 p.m. This was one of those
situations where I really wouldn’t mind time flying. I tapped my right foot and
drummed my left hand’s fingers on the desk in front of me. I really couldn’t
tell if I was nervous or just extremely caffeinated at this point.
I had devoted the last 72 hours of
my life to this test. There was absolutely no other option than to come out on
top because I had, most undoubtedly, trained for this. My professor started to
hand out the exams. When he got to me, everything went white.
The test was a blur. As soon as my
professor put my test down, I flew through it. When I looked up at the clock
again, two hours had already passed. I took a breath and unfolded my test so
the front cover was back on top. I looked at it for a second trying to make
sure that the English sentences weren’t the Russian ones they now looked like.
I slowly and carefully placed my pen on my desk and then pushed the now completely
marked up test away from my face. Okay. All I needed on the test was a 75 and
I’d still get an A in the class. That’s it. I took another deep breath and then
rose from my seat.
“How was it?” My professor seemed
way too eager to hear my answer. I looked at him blankly for a second.
“Uhm, it was alright. Thanks for a
great semester.”
“No problem. It was a pleasure
having you in class!”
“Thanks.” I actually didn’t have a
great semester and getting a 97 average going into the final was actually
almost the death of me.
As I was walking back to my dorm
room, I realized that I was freezing. I cursed myself for finishing my third coffee
five minutes into my test. When I got back to my room, I crawled into my bed,
making sure to pull my big fuzzy blanket over my head. Five minutes later my
phone rang.
“Ugh. What now?” I grabbed my phone
from my nightstand and read the name. Boyfriend. “Hi. I was sleeping.”
“Well hello to you, too. Just
wanted to see how the test went.”
“I wouldn’t even recognize my own
name if you wrote it in front of me right now.”
“So then it went well?” I laughed.
“It went brilliantly.”
“I knew you had it in you. I’ll be
over in ten with ice cream.”
“You’re awesome.”
“I know.” He hung up the phone and
I tried to focus on what flavor of ice cream I’d be consuming in T-minus ten
minutes.
Fifteen hours later, I was
homebound. The ride was never long and that’s what I liked most about my
school: it was close. Each mile closer to home that we got, the better I felt.
But being home was weird. After I
had rolled (actually, after I had dragged
with all my might) my suitcase into my room, I stood there for a minute soaking
it all in. I let out a breath, put my hands on my hips, and surveyed the room.
Well, this was definitely not my dorm
room. The floor was carpet and the walls were higher and the bed was bigger and
the room was much more spacious. I had to take a second to remind myself that
it was still my room. I dropped everything and ran over to my big, fluffy bed.
I collapsed there. My mom found me in the same place the next morning. It was
good to be home.
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