One Dreary Wednesday

It was a dark and dreary night—OK—it was just after lunch and it wasn't dark, but it was dreary. Here, let me start over. "Ahem," clearing my throat.

It was a dreary Wednesday afternoon in English class. I arrived on time, like always, and took my seat. The classroom consisted of about thirty chairs on the classic off-white tile, the cheap kind with gray speckles mixed in so no one notices how unclean the floor really is. The teacher, a wiry middle-aged white man who smoked too much and had a five-o-clock shadow despite the fact it was just after one, came in and went through the typical classroom small talk before beginning his lecture.

Quite the opposite of the typical college stereotype, he spoke with a subtle prose which enlivened the classroom. Every now and then he would throw a word in the air which brought me back down to earth, eagerly anticipating his every word like a Holly Golightly songbird doing Moon River. He began to tell us about our next assignment: "I want each of you to partner up with another and learn a little bit about them. Ask them questions, interview them."

I slowly turned around looking for the young, short-haired girl who sat in my row.

What an interesting way to break the ice and introduce myself, I thought. I would both get to learn a little about this person while at the same time completing my assignment—a surefire winner in my book.

Damn, too late. A husky, dark-haired boy across from me had already seemingly made contact and partnered up. "Oh, well—there's another pretty girl, one with a tattoo, on the other side of the classroom," I thought. I gathered my books and went to the far corner of the room. She, too had partnered up. It seemed as though everyone had a buddy to partner with except for me. Then I noticed a heavyset fellow, dressed in black jeans and matching shirt sitting nearby. He had a nice caramel complexion with braided hair and a nice ball cap. He had a kind, youthful face—the type which if you ever saw his baby pictures you would know it was him instantly.

"Hey man, you got a partner yet?" I asked. "Nope, let's do this," he replied. I introduced myself and extended my hand. "My name's Brandon, what's yours?" "Randal, Randal Sneed."

I picked my chair up and turned it around to face him. Together we formulated an unspoken format for our mock interviews. We would take turns asking questions and offering answers. By the time we finished nearly thirty question-answer combos. I found out that he enjoyed drawing and electronics while he learned that I loved the beautiful colors of autumn. We both love sports cars and super heroes. He loves steak; I love lasagna. We continued for a while, discussing favorite comic book characters and various other hobbies and conversed with the two girls next to us.

Time was suddenly moving at a pace much too fast for my liking.

It was almost time to go so we stood up, shaking hands again and expressing how nice it was to have met one another. I packed up my books and prepared to leave for my next class.

I went into class that day not knowing anyone, having only one objective in mind: pass English 111 with flying colors and unleash my dizzyingly creative writing style on yet another victim. Instead I left with a friend, but not just one—several. In the end, as it turned out, the day no longer appeared quite so dreary after all.