College Class

For the past two months my imagination grew empty, nothing formed. Sitting in Reinforced Concrete class wasn’t helping either, or so I thought at first. Professor McMill blabbered about things I didn’t care about and by surveying the classroom, many student didn’t care either—most were on their phone, while others on their laptops. But there were a handful of student who did pay attention to every small detail she spat out, even the unimportant details about her life. I called them the Front-Row Students. Their eyes never left McMill or the board while their pens scribbled on their notepad for the entire seventy-five minutes. 

I turned to the kid who always sat next to me. He laid his shoulder on the wall and stared on his laptop screen from the start of class until the professor said the class was dismissed. I peaked on his screen without turning my head. Even if I did face him, he wouldn’t have noticed, as if he was inside the game he played. The scent of sweat reeked from his sweaty shirt tight on his large body, but I couldn’t blame him, the entire class held at least sixty students, in the late Spring, with only one air conditioner running. 

I closed my eyes, and entered my imaginary world, attempting for the hundredth time to occupy it with characters or a plot. The meadow had many flowers up to my ankles, they danced to where the wind took them. Roses, tulips, lavenders, they were all mixed in with other I had no clue to what they were. 

“Ed. Ed! Can you answer the question?” Professor McMill voice brought me back to the sad reality. 

I slowly opened my eyes, resisting leaving my imagination. My imagination felt better than the reality of life which clearly wasn’t the good sign. I slightly shook my head and turned to my Professor, sensing all my classmates eyes on me, or at least the First-Row Students. I kept my eyes Professor McMill. She held the marker a few inches away from the white board ready to write.

“Can you repeat the question, Professor McMill,” I asked. “My apologies.”

Professor McMill sneered at me, “What is the stress on the beam at point A?” She slightly looked at the board then back to me.

I blankly stared at the board, realizing she had started a new topic had no clue about or at least didn’t understand it completely. I tried figuring out the solution but the beam didn’t have a roller or pin. The problem had a beam with a fixed end and there was a distributed load from point C to point A. I had never seen a beam with a fixed end. 

“The board doesn’t have the answer on it. Did you work out the problem?” Professor McMill said, tapping the board. 

Let me work it out in my head and I’ll have an answer for you, I thought. “No, professor…” I said. “It’s not that I don’t have the solution to the problem. I have it. But for me to give you the—,”

“Just give me the solution!” She spat.

I paused a moment to allow her to talk. The longer I could stall, the better. Once she stopped, I continued to stall some more while I worked out the problem. “Well, I will provide you with a solution. It’s very easy to give you the solution, in fact, that’s the easiest part of the question.” No it wasn’t. “It’s a matter of finding out what units to you. Like you say, Professor… I mean Dr. McMill—,”

“That’s enough!” She pointed at me with her marker. I just needed a few seconds more to get the solution. The solution was finger tips away from me but it kept sliding off like butter. 

McMill turned to the other side of the class and called on another student. I looked at my fellow classmate: she wore her hair in a weird fashion. Nothing I was used to seeing. Thank you for that idea, I thought. I will include that weird hair design to my main character. 

“The answer is 4.5 kips per square inch… or 4500 pounds per square inch,” I called before McMill asked the question. The hardest part about the question, at least for me, was knowing there was moment at the end of the beam that was fixed. 

McMill turned back to me and rolled her eyes. I don’t blame her, if I was in her position I would’ve hated my job. In fact, engineering wasn’t something for me. She wrote the answer on the board. While she continued lecturing about things I could care less about, I entered my imagination once more, a world exclusive to my mind. 

The main cast of my new book inspiration lined up in front of me, shoulder to shoulder. I’ve always known the cast for my new novel. The girl in my Reinforced Concrete class with her weird hair was the main character, she was quiet and did as she was told without defiance but never did she join the First-Row Students. She remained loyal to herself and never gave in. The chubby kid who sat next to me could be her assistance. The kid who doesn’t talk but knows the ins and outs of the web—maybe that will come in handy. 

McMill had to be the antagonist, no one liked her. It would be the perfect role for her, but only if she was a foot taller, maybe she would look more intimidating. As I thought of a much taller Professor McMill, the one inside my imagination grew. Actually, there were a few people who liked her, I saw their faces behind her after she grew to her maximum height. They’re called the First-Row Students. She only had about ten followers but that’s perfect for a start. I smiled as more ideas flooded inside my mind. It’s been a long time since my imagination worked like it did. 

I stepped away from my imagination and retuned back to the real world—Reinforced Concrete class with the real Professor McMill wrapping up her lecture. I’ve written all my ideas before I lost track of them and before McMill said class dismissed which was in about any minute.