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Unit 1
Fresh Start
Evelyn Herald
I
first
began
to
wonder
what
I
was
doing
on
a
college
campus
anyway
when
my
parents
drove
off,
leaving
me
standing
pitifully
in
a
parking
lot,
wanting
nothing
more
than
to find my way safely to my dorm room. The fact
was that no matter how mature I
liked
to consider myself, I was feeling just a bit
first-gradish. Adding to my distress was
the distinct impression that everyone
on campus was watching me. My plan was to keep
my ears open and my mouth shut and hope
no one would notice I was a freshman.
With that thought in mind, I raised my
head, squared my shoulders, and set out in
the
direction
of
my
dorm,
glancing
(and
then
ever
so
discreetly)
at
the
campus
map
clutched in my hand. It took everything
I had not to stare when I caught my first glimpse
of a real live college football player.
What confidence, what reserve, what muscles! I
only
hoped his attention was drawn to
my airs of assurance rather than to my shaking
knees. I
spent the afternoon seeking
out each of my classrooms so that I could make a
perfectly
timed
entrance
before
each
lecture
without
having
to
ask
dumb
questions
about
its
whereabouts.
The
next
morning
I
found my
first
class
and
marched
in.
Once
I
was in
the
room,
however, another problem awaited me.
Where to sit? Freshmen manuals advised sitting
near
the
front,
showing
the
professor
in
intelligent
and
energetic
demeanor.
After
deliberation, I chose
a seat in the first row and to the side. I was in
the foreground (as
advised),
but out of the professor’s
direc
t line of vision.
I
cracked my anthology of American literature and
scribbled the date at the top of a
crisp ruled page.
“Welcome
to Biology 101,”
the professor began. A
cold sweat broke out
on the back of my
neck. I groped for my schedule and checked the
room number. I was in
the right room.
Just the wrong building.
So
now what? Get up and leave in the middle of the
lecture?
Wouldn’t the professor
be
angry?
I
knew
everyone
would
stare.
Forget
it
,I
settled
into
my
chair
and
tried
to
assume the scientific
pose of a biology major ,blending slightly
forward, tensing my arms
in preparation
for furious notetaking, and cursing under my
breath. The bottled snakes
along the
wall should have tipped me off.
After
class
I
decided
my
stomach
(as
well
as
my
ego)
needed
a
little
nourishment,
and I hurried to the cafeteria. I
accidentally stepped in a large puddle of ketchup.
Keeping
myself upright and getting out
of the mess was not going to be easy, and this
flailing of
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my
feet
was
doing
not
good.
Just
as
I
decided
to
try
another
maneuver,
my
food
tray
tipped
and
I
lost
my
balance.
As
my
rear
end
met
the
floor,
I
saw
my
entire
life
pass
before my eyes: it
ended with my first day of college classes.
In the seconds
after my fall I thought how nice it would be if no
one had noticed. But
as all the
students in the cafeteria came to their feet,
table by table, cheering and clapping,
I
knew
they
had
not
only
noticed
,they
were
determined
that
I
would
never
forget
it.
Slowly I kicked off my ketchup-soaked
sandals and jumped clear of the toppled tray and
spilled
food.
A
cleanup
brigade
came
charging
out
of
the
kitchen,
mops
in
the
hand.
I
sneaked
out of the cafeteria as the cheers died down
behind me.
For
three
days
I
dined
alone
on
nothing
more
than
humiliation,
shame,
and
an
assortment
of
junk
food
from
a
machine
strategically
placed
outside
my
room.
On
the
fourth day
I
couldn’t
take
another
crunchy
-chewy-saltly-sweet
bite.
I
needed
some
real
food.
Perhaps three days was long enough for the campus
population to have forgotten
me. So off
to the cafeteria I went.
I
made
my
way
through
the
food
line
and
tiptoed
to
a
table,
where
I
collapsed
in
relief.
Suddenly
I
heard
a
crash
that
sounded
vaguely
familiar.
I
looked
up
to
see
that
another
poor
soul
had
met
the
fate
I’d
thought
was
reserved
only
for
me.
I
was
even
more
surprised when I saw who the poor soul was: the
very composed, very upper class
football
player
I’d
seen
just
days
before
(thought
he
didn’t
look
quite
so
composed
wearing spaghetti on the front of his
shirt). My heart went out to him as people began
to
cheer and clap as they had for me.
He got up, hands held high above his head in a
victory
clasp , grinning from ear to
ear. I expected him to slink out of the cafeteria
as I had, but
instead he turned around
and bega
n preparing another tray. And
that’s when I realized I
had been
taking myself far too seriously.
What I had interpreted as a malicious
attempt to
embarrass a na?
ve
freshman had
been
merely
a
moment
of
college
fun.
Probably
everyone
in
the
cafeteria
had
done
something equally dumb when he or she
was a freshman
－
and had lived
to tell about it.
Who cared
whether I dropped a tray, where I sat in class, or
even whether I showed
up
in
the
wrong
lecture?
Nobody.
This
wasn’t
like
high
school.
Popularity
was
not
so
important: running with the crowd was
no longer a law of survival. In college,
it didn’t
matter. This was
my bid chance to do my own thing, be my own
woman
－
if I could get
past my preoccupation with doing
everything perfectly.
Once
I recognized that I had
no one’s
expectations to live up to but my own, I
relaxed.
The shackles of
self-consciousness fell away, and I began to view
college as a wonderful
experiment.
I
tried
on
new
experiences
like
articles
of
clothing,
checking
their
fit
and