…and not for the first time, either. Yes, the teacher can often be the worst student, and for this I am thankful because I wouldn’t be where I am now if A. and I had been ideal students throughout our teacher training. (Put two nerdy kids in front of computers, bore them to death with lessons about skills they already have, add ridiculous websites about cats, and you’ve got a recipe for LOLZ and disaster. Warning: byproducts may also include a temporarily broken heart, but that’s another story.)
That first computer class was a lot of fun (no thanks to the instructor), but my favorite memories of the “we’re just friends” phase come almost exclusively from the three classes we had in one particularly hellacious room last fall. Yes, every Thursday for 9 weeks, we were trapped in room 247 alongside our colleagues as a rotating panel of professors appeared before our bleary eyes over the course of 6 hours. If you looked at my bag on 247 Thursdays, you would think I was packing for a weekend camping trip. Computer, books, lunch AND dinner, multiple layers of clothing (the room was alternately sweltering and freezing, of course), and supplies for a bottomless cup of tea were diligently packed and hauled up the hill each week. At 2:00, everyone would stake out their spot (preferably near a power outlet), spread their stuff all about them, and stay put until 8. It wasn’t long before everyone had self-assigned seating, and thus, Team Awesome was born.
Team Awesome typically consisted of a hilarious engaged (now married, still hilarious) couple, Kylee, A., and myself. Team Awesome’s purpose was to get ourselves through those marathon classes with at least a shred of sanity intact, which meant there was a LOT of muttering, giggling, and general heckling throughout the evening. We played flash games, we shared ridiculous links and videos, we made fun of each other, ourselves, and everyone else.
As mind-numbing as those classes were, and as frustrating as those hours could be, I’m grateful for them and for room 247 (where I have another class by myself this semester). I sit in that room now and think back on those ridiculous memories (lowering the steaks, the hammer of justice… don’t ask) and I get an odd sense of nostalgia when I compare that time to what I have now. Because when circumstances changed, as circumstances are wont to do, it was those ridiculous and fun nights that gave me the courage to invite one particular (and newly-single) member of Team Awesome over to watch MST3K’s professional heckling one June evening. And when the news spread? Not a single member of Team Awesome was surprised.
JRP 247
Once again in this grey, hard-backed chair
with little give or support,
I rest with my baggage at my feet
and, as always, on my mind.
Back in this room, this place,
surrounded by beige walls and
carpet lined by squares,
sitting at tables a friendly vandal left her mark on –
the same tables that left a mark on me –
your living ghost hangs over my head
alongside teleconferencing equipment.
Discussion drones on
indifferent to my inattention -
unfocused out the window,
beyond the golden valley
to an invisible skyline.
In reality, I’m only wistfully wasting time
the way we used to
because now I only need to look
past the fireflies in the yard,
under a crisp linen sheet,
up to a crowded stage,
or through the space in my mind,
and there you are: smiling,
waiting for me.
Bells sound and I gather my things
as the prison doors unlock.
It’s not time for peacoats and scarves yet,
but the memory warms me anyhow
as I walk outside alone –
the campanile is no longer our cue for goodbye,
but rather my signal to dial and say hello
the way only a cold, dark alley knew I wanted to.
September 8th, 2010
