Making the (Right?) Decision
I watch as the snow falls silently, and heavily, as I make my way up to a building. I ask someone making their way through the night with a bookbag, if this was the right building, “Voorhees Hall”, he nods, and without another words continues on, face bent to the snow swirling around him.
My thoughts of the college being made entirely from pieces of leftover castle is only confirmed, as I make my way up the steps; they creak and groan beneath my weight, one of the heaters comes to life and all you hear is CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! as hot water gushes through it.
I pass sign after sign pasted on the doors of the third floor, my footsteps echoing strangely off the hollow and empty walls. The hallway is unusually bright, and absent of any usual paintings, student work or otherwise. I stop suddenly in front of an open doorway; I’ve reached the room I’m looking for.
“Doctor…um…” I say quietly, my voice catching in my throat; even though I’ve whispered the question I can hear my voice, magnified ten-fold in the empty hallway. The man sitting on his computer, typing away, looks up.
“You must be Jillian,” He says, getting up quickly from a desk, “I’m glad you found it, we just finished renovating this building…”
He waves dismally to the white empty walls in the weird hallway and ushers me inside. He pushes the door closed, so that it comes close to clicking in its door frame, but not quite; a tiny sliver of light is seen on a bookcase nearby.
I blink and look around the room properly, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light in this room. It doesn’t look anything like an office, but merely part of a library, and a desk was accidentally placed here. Bookshelves cover the largest wall, running the length of the room right up against a small window frame. The bookshelves are huge, towering to the ceiling, and stuffed with all sorts of computer books. You can barely make out the desk with all of the papers sitting on top of it. The desk is stuffed between bookshelves, and looks like a dolls toy next to the towering books surrounding it. There are piles of papers and folders everywhere there is room, which isn’t much. A chair sits half-hazardously near the desk, and looks well-used. I take off my jacket and look around.
“Yes, just there is fine,” He says, taking a stack of papers and shifting them to behind his desk, he points to the cleared square of space he left on the floor, and I set my jacket and bag down.
“Sorry, it’s…it must not be what you are used to - I usually clean I just didn’t have any time today…” He stammers, looking more and more embarrassed as he follows my eyes, looking around the room.
“It’s perfect,” I say, grinning.
We introduce ourselves proper-like and he starts talking about what classes he teaches, what to expect at Carroll, and what his duties are as acting Chair of Computer Science, etc. Pretty soon, we get down to talking about my required classes.
“Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He says, turning in his chair to look out the window as well. His window overlooks a quad-type area, where the snow is falling thick and fast, sometimes I see it swirl up right past his window, as a gust of air pushes it around.
I start, realizing that he took my staring off into space as fascination. He was just giving a lengthy description on the Object Oriented programming class I would have to take, first most likely, a Java class. I lost track after he mentioned Eclipse; I’ve already taken two Java classes at ISU.
“I…yes, both beautiful, and terrible,” I say slowly, thinking of the long drive back to Milwaukee I’ll have to do, soon enough. He nods, understanding.
“So, how many years do you think it will take you?” He asks, sitting up a little straighter and turning back around, “Also, are there any classes that you are considering taking for the graduate elective perhaps?”
I look at him, blinking, dazed. I suddenly feel like I’m sitting in on a test, the answer hangs in the air, tantalizingly close, but my brain is sluggish and unresponsive.
“I…maybe 3, 4 years?” I stutter, looking at him for the right answer.
“It was an open-ended question,” he says, grinning. He brings up a list of the classes that are scheduled out for this summer, explaining how the registration process works, and flips open the small, green book that holds the list of required classes I need to graduate.
“So, according to this you will be done in 2.5 years, that is, if you take one class during each summer,” He says, pointing to the piece of paper I’ve been writing like mad on for the past half-hour. “So you’ll be what, 27, 28 then? That won’t be so bad, if you want to continue with a Ph.D in the future, I mean.”
“I’ll be 24, er, 25 maybe,” I say, doing quick Math in my head. He gives a theatrical start of surprise.
“Oh, wow, you’re saying you’re 22 now?!” He exclaims, looking at me as if seeing my plainly for the first time. The look on his face is different, I can’t tell if he’s trying to figure me out or is mildly impressed, the shocked look remains on his face as he looks at me. A few more minutes pass as I pack up my stuff, him talking excitedly about a new class he will be teaching in the fall.
Soon after that, we say our good-byes, and I’m on my way, feeling suddenly like my future is laid out before me, a very clear road.
I start with one class this Summer — should I write “INSANE” on my forehead now, or wait a few months, you think?