Under Careful Advisement

Day 11: I arrived on campus a little early and warmed myself with a coffee and read my email in the Student Union. 15 minutes before Spanish, I grabbed a breakfast sandwich, turned up my collar, and walked out into the cold to my first class.

The two classes I had today dragged on. Spanish was a carnival of bad accents. Statistics was... statistics. I ended up sitting next to the same kid with headphones as before. He spent the first half the class rocking back and forth, singing under his breath, sort of taking notes. The second half, he abandoned note taking entirely and started texting. 10 minutes before class ended, he packed up his stuff and started fidgeting. I considered telling him that he was free to leave whenever he wanted, but decided against it, opting to see just how long he would last.

I give him 3 weeks.

After class, I made my way over to the CLAS house to once again meet with an adviser. The receptionist directed me to an office and I walked in, coming face to face with my new adviser. She had been out sick for some time and, though she'd returned to work, she was still struggling. On reflex, I reached out to shake her hand. She barked a series of horse coughs into a handful of napkins and apologized.

I slowly withdrew my hand.

On one of the walls of her office, she had a large poster with about 15 The Far Side comics. I stood there reading them, laughing unselfconsciously. She swiped at her nose and mouth with a fresh set of tissues and smiled. I smiled back.

We spent a great deal of time discussing coursework; what was left of my core requirements, how best to to take advantage of what was being offered, potential summer and winter classes, etc. All the courses I was taking this semester were the courses she would have suggested I start with.

As a joke, she suggested a class in Animal Science.

"It'd be a small class with about 10 people. You'd basically learn about and take care of dairy cows," she said.

I leaned back a little in my seat, grinning. "I know my way around a dairy farm."

She raised an eyebrow. "Where are you from?"

"Hartford."

I didn't explain myself further. She didn't ask.

At the end of the meeting, we had sketched out a plan for the remainder of my coursework and I felt that much more confident. I thanked her repeatedly, packed me things and stood to leave. The urge to stick out my hand was strong but I resisted. She seemed to sense my hesitation.

"I'm not contagious," she said, coughing.

"I believe you," I said, and backed towards the door.

I waited until I was back at the Student Union before washing my hands.