A Pillow of Books

My Senior year of High School I took an Anatomy and Physiology class. I took the class with the thought that it was required for graduation or some nonsense like that when really it was an elective of sorts. I have never nor will ever, have any interest in how the body functions. I'm perfectly content with my body working, who needs the confusing details? My teacher sensed my lack of interest in the material right away and seemed to peg me as a wasted use of a chair. I seemed to share her ability of sense, and pegged her as a waste of my regular effort in teacher approval. Thus developed my daily routine in her class.

I would walk into class after a good Safeway provided lunch and take my seat in the back. We made eye contact, I was marked present. I then proceeded to stack my large Anatomy book on top of my History book, topped with my purse and laid my head down. An hour and a half later I would wake up to the bell, pick up my books, pat my sleep imprinted cheek, and move on to history. My teacher never woke me or addressed my mental absence, we had an unspoken agreement it seemed. Although occasionally she would feel devious and call on me to answer a question. I would get nudged and somehow be able to work up a response fitting enough to rest my head once more on my pillow of books. I was never once embarrassed when awakened, panicked when discovered, or held accountable for my social wrong. After all, I had teenage immunity. I mean really what is expected out of a teenage student? Not much at all. Thus immunity. (I will add I still pulled a B in the class)

Today I discovered I most certainly have lost my teenage immunity.

It was the slowest of work days. All my tasks were completed, nails were bitten, and snacks were eaten. The phone was beautifully quiet and I was alone. Our office door was ajar and the rain was pouring down. I casually put my purse on top of the desk and leaned my elbow on it just a little. Next came my head, just to rest lightly on my hand. And then my head slowly slid down arm and found rest on my purse. My eyelids were opening and closing to the rhythm of the raindrops until...well until they weren't. They were closed. They remained closed.

A half hour later I was nudged by a student and I began to fumble for an answer. I opened my eyes expecting a classroom and testing teacher. Not a student, not a classroom, and most certainly not a teacher. My Boss was staring down at me. And that's when I felt them:

Embarrassment

Panic

Accountablity.

And so I did what was obviously sensible- I smiled up at him, rubbed my sleep imprinted cheek, and wished I was packing up for History.