Beyond Reality - Watty winner in Spanish

Chapter II

I yawn, awkwardly stretching my arms and legs until they hurt. An extremely nice pain. What day is it? Friday? Saturday? It takes a few seconds before I finally remember what day is today...Tuesday, if yesterday was Monday...Tuesday? But...what time is it? I see the clock on my night table and I suddenly realize it is 8 a.m. Shit. I must have fallen asleep. I curse in a loud voice while I put on some clothes in less than a minute; I am not even aware of what I am putting on. I drink some juice directly from the carton and I grab some cookies from the cupboard. Then I realize what I am wearing: a white lace shirt, a mini-skirt, stockings and dark shoes. I do not care if they match or not. I do not care how my hair looks, I grab a coat and my bike, which is just in front of our house. I pedal as fast as I can, thinking about how late I am for one of the subjects I enjoy the most: Literature. I think that reading poetry until 5 a.m. was not a smart idea. I am not tired at all because I slept all afternoon but I hate -no- I find really frustrating being late for something I absolutely do not want to miss.

When I arrive at the institute, I rush myself leaving my bike tied to a pole at the entrance and I run as fast as I can to get to the classroom. Halls are emptier than yesterday and as I run I hear teachers' voices as all the classes have begun already. I get to the Literature classroom by heart and I don't even bother myself to look decent.

I am barely inside the classroom now. I look at Professor Thompson who is walking along the front of the room with a book in her hands and making gestures as always.

This time, I am not trying to be unnoticed so I stay at the back of the room, making gestures to express how sorry I am for being late. She happily beholds me as if she thought I would miss her classes, but at the same time she is trying to create the impression she is angry because of my late arrival.

"I am very very sorry, really really sorry, Profesor Thompson. It was not my intention to arrive late." I say with frustration without taking my backpack off and walking just a bit until I get to the middle of the room.

"Again..." says Bobby, one of the school football players to whom I've never spoken, but we've attended the same classes since I can recall. I inspect around, I see everyone laughing and I just get it, they were all in Physics yesterday too. Before ending my inspection, I notice someone looking at me from one side and waving at me -oddly conspiratorial. The guy with the messy hair. I stare at him and he seems even more handsome than yesterday. Then, after two seconds, I look to Professor Thompson again. This professor in particular is not capable of reprimanding anyone; she wouldn't kill a fly. Despite that, I know it is her duty and she must do something about my delay.

"Well, well, Miss Goodman. How glad to see you again." I like to think that is only joy what she is feeling right now. I begin searching for an empty seat.

"But..." Professor Thompson says as she shuts her book and seats behind her desk. 'But'. There is always a 'but'...

"Before your interruption, we were studying thoroughly the wonderful world of poetry, rhyme and emotion. Please, recite a poem for us... By heart. Take this as an exercise and not as a punishment." The professor says, winking at me. She may be forty-five, but she still has some juvenile attitudes. That must be because she is so passionate about literature.

It all comes down to this. A poem. Now I thank the universe for making me stay up late reading poetry. Everything began strangely while I was consulting on some Shakespeare biographical data online and then I ended up reading his poems and then to another poetry web and well... After that, Latin American, European and then English authors. Professor Thompson knows how much I love poetry, so I must admit I am taking pleasure in this punishment.

"Any poem?" I ask her as I relax my body - until then I haven't noticed it was tense.

"Yes. Any poem you'd like."