A Wistfulness A low rumble rolled through the apartment, burying itself into my chest and rousing me to consciousness. I opened my eyes and turned my head to see the clock on my nightstand. I yawned, and closed my eyes again with a sigh.
My music class begins now.
There was to be an exam on nineteenth and twentieth century music; Bela
Bartok's Eastern European-infused folk, Dmitri Shostakovich's dissonant and chaotic operas, the ragtime of
Charles Ives, and my favourite, the romantic preludes of the French impressionist, Claude Debussy. Like a tiny point set ablaze, the sun peered past the drapes of my bedroom window and probed the angled walls of my messy apartment. I laid there in deliberation of my next move.
Should I get going? What would I even tell the professor?
Doctor Philbrook had such a cheery disposition, I would have had no problem approaching her about my being late. Then again, I would have only had half an hour to complete the exam.
It's
no use. I'll just miss this one and make sure I don't miss the next two.
There were three exams, and the lowest score of the three was dropped. My former self would have never allowed this to happen. I used to be so studious, the thought of skipping this exam would have never crossed my mind. My ex-boyfriends were all particularly aggravated by my insistence to stay in and read chapters of a textbook rather than going out and creating mischief.
Take no chances
, I would say to myself, but a part of me had wished that I did. I flicked on the lights of the bathroom and slanted my eyes at the reflection before me in the mirror. My dirty auburn hair looked like some Homeresque monstrosity, and I brushed it back with my hand. A look closer revealed that my eyes were encrusted with more sleep than usual, exacerbated by the wetness that submerged my eyes the night before. Water tumbled out of the faucet and I cupped my hands to it and