Session Two: The Initial Excitement (that quickly died)

I think that the night before your first day of senior year is a night that hardly anyone get any sleep (unless you’re hopped up on Tylenol Cold, in which case you’re singing the lumberjack song right next to good ol’ Monty Python). The anticipation churns in your stomach like poorly-digested Taco Bell as you await listening to your teachers giving you the whole “We’re here to be on your ass and make sure you stay on task right up until graduation even if we have to fail you to do it” speech.

The fact that Loyola Academy is a college prep school only lengthens the snooze-fest. At least, I assume it does, seeing as I’ve never attended a public high school and compared notes. Although I did time one of my teachers’ introductory lectures: 17 minutes and 22 seconds. I’m anal and proud, peon.

So, first day. I dealt with the relevant-but-not-to-this-subject-matter AP Literature, Finite Math, and Film Studies, as well as the much more fun free periods. But all things must come to an end (or at least, that’s how I kept myself from committing Hari-Kiri when we actually had to learn things in Finite. Seriously, what’s up with that?).

And so, I was on my way to my first ever Latin class. I was very excited- the maniacal grin on my face was large enough to scare passerby. The language hallway had never seemed longer...-er...-er. One small step for tall people, on giant hop, skip, and leap for moi. I remember clearly, how fresh-faced and naive I was, even after coming from my Film Studies class that would later become the Bane of My Existence Part I (Latin was Part II, like the Godfather- the second part was MUCH worse than the first, which for reasons I will not disclose, is a horrifyingly traumatic memory for me).

Ahem. Anyways.

So I enter the class, my slight angst from the prospect of my one blowoff class not actually being a blowoff class, mostly held at bay. I was cool, because Latin was going to be FUN. And COOL. And EASY.

Knock. On. Wood.

What should have tipped me off was the fact that there was French memorabilia decorating every available- and unavailable- surface. I hate France. Also present were the PSTIA (People Shorter Than I Am). They always herald bad things.

I might have been doodling. Or maybe I had a book. I’m not sure, but I know that the minute the teacher walked in through the door, I zeroed in on him. Looking back, I think I might have creeped him out with my intensity, but that’s all in the past. My eyes followed his every pace as he began the class, like Jaws waiting to eat the unsuspecting swimmer, anticipating the one moment I knew would come.

And so it did.

As soon as he said we should introduce ourselves, I literally began to PREEN. In retrospect, it was rather disgusting. Full of myself and eager to demand respect, I brought up the fact that I was a senior as soon into my introduction as was feasible (as in, “My name is Michelle, and I’m actually a senior.”). Aaah, attention. My classmates were looking at me in what I now realize to was incredulity born from doubts of my intelligence rather than any form of awe, but I naively plodded on through my intro with a self-satisfied and cocky air. Bow before me and all that jazz (all of this was told inconspicuously in the high-schooler’s code). Inevitably came the questions:

Why take Latin I?

Why? Because I finished Spanish Four and I wanted a challenge, you silly goose!

What would you recommend for the underclassmen?

Get involved! Join a club or six, or a sport, or the school service projects! Tee-hee!

Sometimes I wonder how I can walk through doors with my inflated head. I think it’s magic. Or maybe expandable doorways.

Maybe later I’ll expound upon the hopes and quickly dying dreams that came from that first lecture. But what’s important was that as week one turned into week two, and week two turned into week three, I realized something so horrible, so completely frightening that I went into a state of shock and had to guzzle down a bag of Raisinettes and two hot chocolates before I was even somewhat back to normal.

You ready for it?

This...was going to actually involve WORK.