By Auria Araghi

Today is Monday.  My favorite day of the week.  The weekend was absolutely dreadful, and summer was absolutely dreadful.  It was so long…all I did was long — long for August, long for crammed halls, long for untucked shirts, tennis shoes, inordinate behavior…insubordinate behavior.  But today is Monday, my favorite day of the week, and I don’t have to wait any longer.

But I do have to wait just a little more, since my clock only reads 12:00, and my watch only reads 12:00, and the night outside is a 12:00 night, and my phone only reads 12:01.  Another blink and it’ll be 12:02…OK, so it wasn’t.  I blink and yawn until morning, and then I drive to work and sooner or later I end up in my usual spot with my usual coffee and usual enthusiasm, and anything unusual, I’ll have to correct.  

I was so excited to get here, but the clock only reads 6:00, and my watch only reads 6:00, and no student would want to be here at 6:00, and I wonder why.  I blink and I yawn, and I’m reminded to drink my coffee.

Sometime or another I meet and chat with the other Deans.  We talk about Dean things.  We blink and yawn, too.

Sometime or another it turns 8:00, and a student comes in.  

Sometime or another — it’s 8:15 now — a student comes in, with an untucked shirt.  Dean Mitchell and Dean Redding appear out of nowhere, just like good Deans should:

“Excuse me.”

“Tuck in.”

“Your shirt.”

We’re like the Dean Musketeers.  Sometimes I have a clever thought.

I’ve had my coffee, and I’m awake now — no more yawning or blinking (well, the recommended amount of blinking) — so I have more than my usual enthusiasm.  How unusual.  Ha! — sometimes I have a clever thought.

The Deans are in crisis mode.  Nobody’s read our email.  Dean Mitchell says we could announce the world was ending and nobody would read our emails.  I say we’d probably mention it on the PA system, but she doesn’t seem to get my point.  Nobody’s read our email, and it’s a pretty important one.  Dean Redding is sending a follow-up, but he shouldn’t bother.  Dean Redding hasn’t been here as long as me — you learn by mistakes.  I say why don’t we announce it on the PA, but Dean Mitchell’s been here longer than the both of us, and she says nobody would listen.  We’re still in crisis mode.

Assemblies are like painting white on a white wall.  The ones who get it nod their heads and blink and yawn, and the ones who don’t get it nod their heads and blink and yawn.  I’m reminded to drink my coffee.

Iced coffee’s my favorite.  The caffeine’s not enough; I need something cold to stay awake.  Dean Redding says he drinks tea.  Dean Redding hasn’t been here as long as we have: he has more than my more-than-usual enthusiasm, and maybe he sees something in us that he doesn’t want to repeat.  Only, Dean Mitchell drinks tea, too — one day, she saw something in herself that she didn’t want to repeat.

The Dean’s motto is Per Aspera ad Astra — through hardship to the stars.  Sometimes we stay really, really late, and we can see the stars on our way home.

I’m starting to long for the summer…long for June…so long away.

But I’m being dramatic, and none of it’s so bad.  I just haven’t had my coffee in a while.

I’m going home now.  I see the stars, and some of them haven’t read our emails, and some of them haven’t tucked in their shirts, and a lot of them couldn’t care less about emails and tucked shirts and in some ways that’s good, but I can see them shining brightly and they’ll grow and shine even brighter.

Dea End