He kept talking, and I just wanted to sleep. Any forethought of the week ahead was nonexistent; I felt trapped in the "now" of then, and I am still unsure of how I got here. His suit was enough to make me cringe--then again, his fashion choices are nothing to be admired. In the middle of a blur of lectures and dates on a calendar, he once walked into class with a white suit and pink button-up shirt. And while one woman was shouting Miami Vice from the sidelines, I felt as if Hostess was using this man to send subliminal messages, and in a more innocent manner than it may perversely imply, I began craving a Sno Ball.
This is a typical Tuesday and Thursday for me--every week since January. If it has not become apparent yet, I will make the obvious obvious: this semester has been trying on a minuscule scale that makes a large difference in my mood week-to-week. But whatever complaints and pessimism I may be able to record via diary or pointless online status messages, a break is in my near future, and the man in the gaudy suit with the annoying accent that does not come from the southern state he swore he was raised, and the other countless lectures I have endured just in the week that make little impact on my long-term knowledge and only serve to bury me deeper in debt, will not stop me from enjoying my time.
The best part of this week was the gracious words escaping the strange man's lips: "I'm canceling class for Thursday." After rambling--as he usually does--for a few minutes on why he would not elaborate on this cancelation, he finally said he wanted to start his spring break early. Two things came to mind, and I was not alone: Must your character be so ironically pitiful? and So, your early break means you'll prolong grading our papers for yet another week, right?. Both frustrating. Both predictable.
The library, despite the loud buzz released from an emergency exit being propped open, was quiet. Many students had either already began their breaks or were hastily finishing up their last-minute assignments so they can skip out on whatever classes they hated just as much as I. My ability to terrify myself into properly attending courses and not skipping even the least nourishing of subjects, has left me envious of those who are willing to drop everything and actually catch up on their sleep whether it be at "home" or on the coast of some beach. I decided on the former, if anyone was wondering. The idea of sleeping in my own bed and seeing my pets for the first time since Christmas was more appealing to me than going topless in a beach or nightclub and ending up in some recording detrimental to any reputation I might acquire outside of these hallowed halls one day. (I am still a bit worried of my chances of making anything of myself, to be honest.) And news that Girls Gone Wild was banned from one town in Florida meant there is less of a chance for any of my peers to lose all respect due to liquid courage and a false sense of what happens on the beach stays there.
Friday made itself known in the morning as I woke to the sounds of more construction and screaming--screams of happiness, [somewhat] thankfully. With only one class for the day (and even it getting eventually cancelled), the day was turning out better than I expected. Trey made it to his class fine and when he got out, I met him outside of the door to eat a large lunch with him. He told me about his class--which is always far more interesting than mine--and when we made it out of the dining hall, having eaten a large meal, we found a private sitting area to relax. The benches were just stone, backless benches, but they were something. The gazebo-like shelter with trees and pink blossoms surrounding the area, letting in a little light, set the perfect mood to rest off all of the food we ambitiously devoured. Trey looked at me, and as the breeze carelessly whipped my hair completely from its carefully worked part, and kept me from being able to even see him, he took my hands and ensued an unfair game of slaps with me--the object being he would smack my hands with the advantage that my temporary blindness disabled my (already) slow reflexes, but I was fine with this. I just wanted to be close for as long as I could.
It would not be so for too long.
On the way to meet my dad so I could make it back to my hometown for the week break, I took Trey's hand and told him how I was happy for the break, and happy it was a week, in which his reply was solemn and concerning. I squeezed his hand and asked him if he was okay. He smiled his usual, sweet smile and just said "yes." Whether he was telling the truth or not was neither here nor there. He said it because he loves me, and we both know leaving each other on a sad note is never how one should leave. Next weekend, we will reconvene, and it will be beautiful. Just like him.