Early Bird | ✓

16 | heron

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry, Lizzy," Mr. Morris apologized, tripping over the edge of his desk as he tried to scurry behind it.  "I am a mess today," he expressed, dabbing his shimmering forehead with his hand before collecting stray, haphazard papers into more organized piles.  Aren't you always a mess? Lizzy soliloquized but didn't voice aloud.  Dumping her backpack onto the floor, Lizzy perched herself on the edge of the chair in front of Mr. Morris's desk, eager to abscond from the room as fast as possible.

"Alright, let's get started then," Mr. Morris said, searching frenetically about the room for his notes on Lizzy's future plans and topics they had previously discussed.

"Mr. Morris, don't tell me you lost them again," Lizzy grumbled, referring to her file that he had seemingly misplaced.  She watched him rifle through the papers he had already arranged when she first entered the room, his damp forehead displaying a sickly shine.

"No, no, I distinctly remember..."  A single finger rapped the edge of his chin where a field of gray whiskers were flourishing.  Lizzy pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows at her guidance counselor expectantly.

He snapped his fingers suddenly, a lightbulb surfacing in his head.  "Aha!  I remember now!  I set it right—" He shifted through a series of nauseatingly large encyclopedias.  "—here!"  He then stumbled upon Lizzy's file in triumph, carrying it high above his head victoriously.  "Now we can officially begin."

Mr. Morris reclined in his chair, his eyes skimming over her file rapidly.  Lizzy wasn't sure why he was trying to disguise his extreme unpreparedness; it was obvious that he had not perused her sheet in ages, possibly since the last time he requested to see her at the beginning of the new year.  She thudded her fingers against the armrest impatiently, wondering if—when—it would be proper and not considered rude to up and leave.

"So you said that you'd research some possible college options and you had an interest in majoring in botany.  What kind of colleges did you look at?" Mr. Morris asked, selecting a pen and preparing to add more to Lizzy's very limited and short list of information about her future.

Lizzy's eyes seemed to bug out of her head, frantically endeavoring to think of something to say, to improvise because she had, in fact, neglected to do the research even though she had tried to force herself to.  "Well—um, I—" she stuttered, reaching into the deepest depths of her mind and surfacing with nothing in her palms.  Her face reddened immensely, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans.

Mr. Morris's panicky gaze like raging waters had calmed, his composure recollected.  "I can see that you haven't done any of your research."  He paused, spinning in his chair to stare at his bookcase deep in thought.  Minutes ticked by and Lizzy pondered if she should just leave.  This meeting wasn't worth it; Lizzy wasn't ready at all for any sort of life-changing decisions and commitment.  Unfortunately, before she could sweep her backpack off the floor and flee, Mr. Morris spoke again: "Lizzy, I want to know where your head is at.  Do you want to go to college?  You're certainly smart enough.  You excel in all of your classes and you are passionate about gardening and doing well in everything you set your mind to.  What is hindering you?"

Lizzy wasn't sure how to respond to such accusations.  She had been exposed, her lack of effort bare and out in the open like girls in bikinis on warm summer days.  She wanted to hide in her gray sweatshirt, Mr. Morris's penetrating stare burning two holes in her forehead.  Guilt washed over her and she was irritated at herself for not caring as much as she should about what's going to happen next in her life.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Morris.  I don't really know what exactly is wrong with me.  I guess it's because I'm scared of the future—or I'm scared of change.  Either way, nothing about college is exciting me in the way that it does everybody else."