Ana Ugglor i Mossen

“It seems there is a problem with your transcript and until we get it taken care of we won’t be able to let you graduate this semester. Bear with me for just a second...”

I’m sitting in my advisor’s office waiting for her to tell me whether or not I will get to graduate. I squirm in my chair as she clacks on her keyboard, trying to find the root of the issue. I look around the room. Tons of books fill heavy wooden shelves around the room. The weight causing many of them to bend in the middle, about to give at any minute. Many are her own personal works. Framed awards and pictures of her meeting other famous authors line the walls around the office.

Professor Anderson is one of the most fought over advisors in the writing department of my university. And by a small chance of luck in my sophomore year- one guy getting kicked out of the department due to plagiarism- I was able to secure her as my advisor. So if anyone can figure out the problem, she can.

“Aha. Here it is,” she exclaims.

I grip my chair a little tighter in anticipation.

 “It seems you haven’t taken an on campus activity,” she smiles at me. “Well that’s easy enough to fix.” 

She goes back to clacking her keyboard again.

I have no clue what she’s talking about. “Um,... a what activity?”

She turns from her computer screen to look at me again. 

“All undergraduate students in the Creative Writing program are required to be involved in one on campus extracurricular activity related to their degree.”

“What?” I falter. “This was never mentioned to me!” 

She nods sympathetically. “The department created it as a requirement last year. It was probably just overlooked.”

“But… but… what?” I stammer. I’m supposed to be a writer and at this point you’d think I didn’t know any words in the English language.

I open and close my mouth a few times before finding something to respond with. 

“Can it be waived? I mean I wasn’t told and it wasn’t required when I first enrolled in the program.”

 Clack, clack, clack…

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like I can waive it. But it’s okay! There’s still plenty of time to get you in one. This semester has just started. Let’s see here…”

Back to the clacking. The sound is really starting to grate on my nerves at this point. 

“Oh,...” her face falls. 

My stomach clenches. Oh no. What does that mean?

“Well,” she starts, still trying to sound cheery. “It seems there’s nothing left open in the department. My guess is that this has happened to quite a few other students also and since most groups are capped at about ten they filled up rather quickly.”

What?!?! I want to scream. I need to graduate this semester! This is ridiculous. All this over one extracurricular activity? This can’t be legal! It has to be against my constitutional rights! They can’t keep me here like this! I’m just about to shout something when she suddenly responds.

“Wait! There is still an opening in one of our Writer’s Circles. Oh,...”

Again with the Oh’s.

“It’s in the multilingual group.”

“I’ll take it!” I exclaim without thinking first.

Shit. I don’t know a foreign language.”

She looks at me doubtfully. “I didn’t know you spoke a second language.”

“I guess it’s never come up in conversation,” I shrug.

She nods some more, lowering her glasses to the bridge of her nose. 

“Well, I hope you speak something rather unique because we already have the Spanish, French, German, and Mandarin slots full.

“As a matter of fact I do. I actually speak…” I look around the room quickly. My eyes falling on a Steig Larson book that's about to topple from one of the crowded shelves to the floor. “Swedish.”

“Swedish?” 

She doesn’t have to sound so skeptical.

I nod.

Clack, clack, clack.

“Okay. You’re in. They meet at 3:00 in the third floor conference room.”

********

You know what else they don't tell you about at this university? If you are five minutes late to your required extracurricular activity the door is locked and they are not happy about having to let you inside. I endured a five minute lecture about how important it is to be punctual and when you’re a writer you will have deadlines and you will have to meet these deadlines, and there won’t always be wiggle room or second chances like they are giving me today… I could go on. 

When I was finally granted access into the classroom there was only one chair left open at the round conference table. I gave everyone an awkward “I’m sorry” wave of my hand and quickly sat down. Lecture girl started talking again while I looked around the room. There were only about ten of us in the group, all girls, and everyone looked to be a student. 

“Let’s introduce ourselves!” Lecture girl announced at the end of her speech. “I want you to stand up and tell us your name, writing genre, and what language you are bringing to the group.”

“My name is Lacy Williams, and no I’m not the famous author, but I want to be!” she says with a high pitched laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“I speak French, my genre is romance, and I’m hoping this group will help me continue working on my novel. I can’t wait to hear your critiques. It’s about two long lost loves in the countryside of France,...”

The overview of her book goes on for a good five minutes, sparking interest and questions from several other girls in the group. 

After all the other members have introduced themselves, it’s my turn. I gulp. My mouth suddenly dry. I stand up.

“I’m,...” I clear my throat. “My name is Alex… my genre is fiction, all types. I especially like comedies, romantic comedies. I hope this group can help with some stuff I’m working on…”

I go to sit back down when I hear Lacy’s high pitched bubbly voice screech out.

“You forgot to tell us your language!” 

Shit. I was hoping they wouldn’t notice.

I give a lighthearted laugh and stand back up. 

“Oh, yes. Silly me. It’s Swedish,” I mumble, quickly sitting back down.

“Swedish!” A girl who introduced herself as Cassie exclaims in awe. “That’s so cool!”

“How did you learn Swedish?” another girl named Emma asks.

The question catches me off guard. I hadn’t prepared for being asked how I knew the language. “Um… I just woke up one day and I knew it.”

“You just woke up one day and knew it,” sneers Tanya. A brown haired know it all who sounds even more stuck up now than she did when introducing herself.

Her tone makes me seethe. How dare she ask me that. She doesn’t even know my story! Now I’m determined to make them believe me. Almost forgetting myself that I’m making this up, I press on.

“Yep, I hit my head pretty hard the day before. Then the next morning... boom. I knew Swedish. The doctors said it’s rare, but it happens.” 

I know I’m going to Hell for this, but whatever it takes to graduate.

Everyone is staring at me, as if I’m an alien that has just appeared in the room and they’re not sure whether to move on or run away. 

Finally, Lacy claps her hands together and everyone’s attention is back on her.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Okay then. Well it’s been nice meeting you all. Tomorrow I want everyone to bring a short story or poem written in their second language to share with the group.”

Wait. What!

“And um… how will this be graded?” I ask trying to sound genuinely concerned for the sake of the group. “If we don’t know each other's language then how will we know what they are saying?”

She laughs. “Of course, I should explain that. It’s graded on doing the assignment. Just write it in your language, then come prepared to share it with the class, and tell us the meaning of it. Oh! And it must be your own original work.”

Oh thank God.

“Well that’s our time for today,” Lacy announces. “Can’t wait to hear everyone’s great work tomorrow. Especially yours Alex. I’ve never heard the Swedish language before!”

That makes two of us.

********

The next day I make sure to show up on time to the writer’s circle in order to avoid talking to Lacy any more than I have to. However, as soon as I walk in I hear her grating voice say my name.

“Alex! I can’t wait to hear your… poem or short story?”

I take a deep breath and smile calmly at her. “It’s a poem. An original of mine I wrote years ago.” 

I may have elaborated on the latter statement. By years ago, I mean last night after watching several YouTube videos on how to make your Swedish accent sound believable. I may have also written a quick poem and typed every word of it into Google Translate, but that secret is safe with me.

I take my seat and wait until everyone has arrived. After Lacy calls roll we jump straight into our readings. Each person asks if I’d like to go before them because “they just can’t wait to hear it”, but each time I politely decline while pretending to write and telling them I’m still perfecting a few things. Eventually though, everyone has read and I can no longer put it off. I stand up, legs wobbling, and slowly make my way to the front of the room. Every eye is focused on me with genuine excitement.

I clear my throat and begin in what I hope is an “I’ve been doing this for years and didn’t just learn all this last night because I’m a liar” type of accent.

De vind slag kall genom de hedar,

Men jag känna till är här till ha kvar mig värma…

When I am finished reading, I look up. Several girls are nodding as if they understood every word.

Cassie, who I have learned through little interaction is not the brightest in the group, sighs and dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex. “That was beautiful.”  

“What was it about?” Lacy asks, her eyes wide.

I shrug. “Love.”

“Can you give us a little more than that,” Tanya’s snotty voice chimes in.

“It doesn’t need a better explanation than that Tanya,” Emma declares. “Those words spoke to my soul.”

Tanya rolls her eyes.

Lacy gives me an admiring gaze. “I have to agree. That was beautifully read.”

“How do you say beautiful in Swedish?” Emma asks me.

“Skolda,” I say matter-of-factly hoping the word sounds legit.

“Skolda,” she repeats breathlessly.

********

This goes on for months. Most of the words I use in the writer’s circle are gibberish, the rest translated off the internet. This wasn’t a total waste of time though. I have learned quite a few Swedish words that I have managed to commit to memory. So it’s not like I’m really lying anymore. Not totally at least. Still no one questions my pronunciation or bothers to look up my so-called “Swedish facts”, so I may be able to pull this off and graduate on time.

The first week of May, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. We have two more weeks left and I have just been approved to graduate. I’m in the middle of yet another “great” poem of mine, when there’s a knock on the conference room door. Lacy walks over to answer it. My heart stops when I see Professor Anderson enter the room.

Oh God. She’s found out and she’s here to tell everyone!

She’s smiling cheerfully as usual.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ll be quick. I know it’s almost the end of the semester, but I am so excited to announce that we are starting something new with each writer’s circle. We will be bringing in professors to look over and advise you on the direction of your work. Now since your group is a little different, we will be bringing in professors that specialize in each language to make sure your writing is on the right path for your portfolio, or for some of you,” she motions towards a couple of us, “your thesis for graduation.”

Everyone gasps and squeals with excitement. I feel myself relax a little. The university doesn’t have any Swedish professors, so there won’t be anyone to check the “work” I’ve been doing.

Professor Anderson starts to leave the room, then stops. She turns back around and looks at me.

“Oh and Alex…”

Here it is…

I start nodding and am about to respond with feigned disappointment when she cuts me off.

“You won’t believe the luck. Professor Isaksson is here filling in for another professor that had a baby. He’s a retired history teacher, originally from Sweden. So he’ll be able to look over everything you’ve done this semester.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach, my whole body going cold and numb. I somehow manage to keep a smile plastered on my face even though I’m screaming inside.

“That’s great!” I say shrilly as she leaves the room. 

Looks like I won’t be graduating this semester after all...