Blocking the accomplishments and failures of his past that now seem more like out of body experiences described by Joyce Meyer than memories of his, he is solely focused on the ‘now.’

The grip of the steering wheel. The tight grip of the elastic at the top of his black dress lining around his calves. A silver watch he wore only on special occasions latched onto his left wrist.

Am I going the right way? What’s going to happen? Urges to question what he can’t control creep into his mind while driving to the outpost where the uninitiated are put through their paces. A rush of nervous adrenaline jolts him out of the car.

The syncopation from each step in his size 14 black dress shoe echo off the parking lot pavement to signal a new member waiting to inhabit the sanctuaries of education placed among the lagoons and avenues of the sleepy collegial society.

Forgetting a section of his required paper work brings him back to the present tense in a snap.

A band of sweat sprouts up along his forehead, the curse of an anxious introvert. The white dug rag with black trig that should belong to someone who owns a Harley-Davidson acts as a shock absorber as he glances to his left and notices he still has 32 minutes before his initial commitment begins. Another first-day crisis averted.

 

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