AncilAfter only five months within the University walls, I was already on the verge of losing it. I couldn’t survive another day in that place far less another two to three years and my natural anxiety problems didn’t help the situation in the least. I guess my choice of degree probably had a big part to play in my dislike of University life: Economics.
Since I dropped out and was liberated from the University system, I’ve been spending a lot of time with my books but the majority of that time was spent trying to get rid of my writer’s block and my unrelenting coffee addiction. No matter how much I tried, however, finishing a story seemed like mission impossible. Writer’s block is a very normal thing for writers and most great writers found ways to get over it; great writers such as Don Hummers who I was going to meet very soon. I was actually incredibly eager to meet Don Hummers and to learn a thing or two from him.
As the week progressed, Samantha called me every so often to remind me about the workshop and also to complain about how I wasn’t answering my cell phone. I wasn’t particularly ignoring her. My cell phone was usually set to silent because I couldn’t stand the annoying buzzing ringtones in my ears but in any case, I was definitely looking forward to both the challenge and opportunity that lay ahead.
When Saturday finally arrived, it hit me the way all early mornings do, hard! It struck me in a daze as I woke up all flustered. I was late, really late. I didn’t want to miss the workshop so I scurried off my bed, leaving it in its unmade state, and dashed straight to the shower where I took a bath so quickly that I barely even got wet. I spent a bit more time brushing my teeth and putting on my clothes before I was out of the house. My mom wasn’t home but it didn’t matter. She would have slowed me down anyway. My mother’s main car was gone but her second car, which was a silver Tiida Sedan, was still there, parked in the driveway just begging to be driven. Moments after grabbing the keys, I was on the road speeding past all the goodie-two-shoes who were too respectful to drive beyond the speed limit. I didn’t care though. It was 10:53 am and I had only seven minutes to get to a place half an hour away.
11:45 am I arrived at the location which was an old high school. The school looked like it had gone through all types of hell with its half-painted walls, unkempt lawn, and wooded doors. The building itself didn’t look very safe for young writers let alone little high school children. I was a bit taken aback by the state of the school but I still strolled forward, leaping over puddles of water that blocked my path. The school was empty and the giant parking lot only had a couple cars which probably belonged to the attendees at the workshop. I was expecting a lot more people to be in attendance especially since it was Don Hummers and whatnot but if the number of cars in the parking lot was any indication of the attendance, it was a no-show event.
One of the cars plainly stood out to me. It was a big white Range Rover that had devil signs plastered all over it. I assumed that it was Don Hummers’ car because his obsession with things of the devil was publicly known. It was even rumored that he had spent an entire year with the devil in order to write his books. He was sort of considered a nutcase by the world but despite their assessment of his character, they still loved his books.
Room 4: that was the room I had to look for. I found it and tried to make myself small as I grabbed a seat behind everyone, still sweating from the rush. I got a small acknowledgment from Don Hummers as I settled into my chair. He was a relatively short guy with large glasses over his glassy eyes. Some of the “students” turned back to grab a glance at the latecomer. They all looked incredibly young, probably around my age, maybe younger. Samantha and the girl next to her acknowledged my presence a bit longer than the others. They sat just three rows in front of me among the empty chairs which outnumbered the occupied ones by a depressing margin. I didn’t know who the girl next to Samantha was but our eyes met and her stare was piercing. She wore a green turtleneck sweater which matched the color of her pen, notepad, shoes, and water bottle holder. It was strangely fashionable; all the green. Samantha whispered something to her and turned back around to face Don Hummers but the girl next to her didn’t relent as our eyes remained locked upon one another.
Eyes still locked, my breaths got a little deeper and my heartbeat began to accelerate. I couldn’t decide if it was my very natural anxiety acting up or if it was the girl next to Samantha using some sort of mystical powers on me. It was most probably my very natural anxiety.
She held her gaze at me for a bit too long. Five seconds is a long time to hold a gaze. Was I that good-looking that she couldn’t resist staring at me for so long with her big brown eyes? As it turns out, I wasn’t. She gestured at me signaling me to move a little to the left. I did, tracking her eyes to a poster behind me that had the quote, “There’s no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you: Maya Angelou.” I was apparently blocking Maya Angelou’s name with my big head.
She quickly turned back around focusing her attention on Don Hummers again. “Humphhh!!” I mumbled to myself, feeling insulted by the fact that she was only staring my way to see the words on the poster behind me.
I wasn’t paying attention at the workshop as much as I thought I would. Don Hummers was talking about something to do with character development but the only character I wanted to develop was the girl sitting next to Samantha. What was her name? How old was she? Where was she from? And why was she there in place of Samantha’s boyfriend? I tried to answer these questions by simply staring at the back of her head.
