Roman Around Campus

Quests can come in many shapes and forms. For one person, their quest could be sailing across the sea to establish a new city. For another, it could be defeating a cyclops and rescuing his men. For me, my quest was to get to my 8:30 class on time.

I was awoken by the sirens blaring from my phone, their incessant shrill stirring me from my sleep. With all of my strength, I ripped my arm free of the restraints of my blankets, their weight tying me to my bed. Grasping my phone, I silence the sirens and struggle to sit up. I glance at the clock and contemplate my priorities. On one hand, education is important. On the other hand, sleep. Steeling myself to my resolution, I slowly remove myself from the sea of blankets that have ensnared me and brace myself against the frigid linoleum of my dorm floor.

As I flick on the harsh light and force my eyes to adjust to the brightness, I glance into the mirror and am greeted by what appears to be a gorgon. Flinching, I realize that it’s merely my reflection, and instead of trying to tame the snakes, I throw on a ballcap and grab my pack, which is fully stocked with all of the necessary supplies: my textbooks, granola bars, a blanket for impromptu napping, and a box of Cheez-its. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

Mustering every ounce of strength, I glance back longingly at my bed and turn towards the day, ready to brave whatever monsters may be lurking on the other side. I throw open the door and make my way outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see other heroes on their own quests, some with cups of coffee in their hands, others with looks that say they have accepted their fate. We all share the same tired eyes and slumped shoulders. I think back to when I registered for classes, so young, so naive, so full of hope, thinking that an 8:30 class really wouldn’t be that difficult. I scoff at past me and curse her for putting me through this misery.

Shifting my pack higher on my shoulders, I begin my long trek across campus. I feel eyes burning into the back of my head and glance over my shoulder, my eyes meeting those of Billboard Donald Trump Junior. He glares down at me from his perch, daring me to skip my class. His eyes watch over Faulkner’s campus like the eyes of Zeus.

As I step onto the black pavement, I hear a rumbling in the distance. I scan the horizon and see a metal beast racing towards me. I dodge its charge and barely have time to sidestep an attack from yet another beast. Their drivers, who from all possible evidence lack the gift of sight, blare their horns as they ride off into the distance. I send a prayer to the gods, thanking them for choosing to kill me with an 8:30 class and not a car, and continue on my way when I pass by the doors of Cafe Sienna. I check my watch and see that I have a few minutes before my class starts. Maybe I have enough time to get some coffee… A voice in the back of my head nags me that I should continue on my quest, but as the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the door, I allow myself to be led into the cafe and be greeted by my fellow comrades, all seated around a table. Abandoning my pack and grabbing a cup, I settle down into a chair and join in on the sharing of stories, all the while oblivious to the passing of time.

Suddenly, I hear the chiming of the clock tower. With my heart in my throat, I check the time and see I have five minutes to get to my class. I dive out of my chair, taking just enough time to grab my pack, and sprint out the door, the chimes of the clock tower chasing after me like incessant birds. Leaping across sidewalks and dodging students, I race into Brooks Hall and fly down the hallway and into my classroom. I sink into my chair and glance at my watch. With a sigh of relief, I see that it is 8:29. Rome might not have been founded in one day, but it only took me twenty minutes to find my class.