Mundane Days
Dit-dit … dit-dit … dit-dit …
He absently reaches out to his phone to snooze the alarm for the third time. The covers open; a bit of chill seeps in, jolting him awake. He counts down from five inwardly before launching himself out of bed. At the same instant, a mosquito takes flight from near his pillow.
The water is freezing as he brushes. His cold is on its fifth day streak. He debates whether to wash his face or not, but a look at the mirror reminds him of the possibility of having a slightly more tolerable look, so the facewash triumphs. Back in his room, he swaps for outdoor clothes, takes two caps of cough syrup and exits the hostel putting on his woolen cap.
The agenda of the morning is a meeting of the literary club to discuss the semester’s activities. He waits outside on the chilly benches: two minutes, five minutes, fifteen. He slides out his phone and turns on the data. Two notifications light up the screen: the first an email from Colgate University, informing him that his transfer application has been rejected. The second is a Facebook post that reads that the club meeting has been postponed to another day. He is lost on what to do now.
At that moment, a group of chattering girls enters his field of view. They are wearing basketball shorts. He looks at himself, shivering in a thick jacket. As they come close, his sight converges enough to recognize a friend. He waves at her. She runs over, slightly out of breath, sweaty and the morning sunlight glints off her radiant head. Suddenly his morning ordeal seems a bit better.
‘Do you want to grab tea?’, he asks her, swallowing a lump in his throat. She agrees like its no big deal and they walk to the nearby tea house. She tells him excitedly of her days, of the upcoming competition, of classes and the arrival of freshmen. He nods and agrees, mutters shock and awe. A cloud billowing out from a nearby smoker assaults his lungs and he coughs. She is broken out of her reverie and remembers her classes start soon. Giving him a quick hug, she pays for tea and dashes off before he can say anything.
He sits silently, observing the morning patterns of the crowd. A group of loud students at a table, two female executives quietly and intensely discussing something. An old and scruffy man wearing shorts in the winter, staring at his phone.
The clock on the wall reads ten twenty. He jumps, realizing class has already started. Approximately sixty percent of people shake his hands en route, thirty percent bump fists and a meager ten percent wave to him, either people who are far or sisterly acquaintances. Inside the classroom, the temperature drops a few degrees. The teacher shows a slide and starts a monotonous explanation which nearly puts him back to sleep.
One period ends, then another. By the fourth one, he is bored and hungry. And cold. Miserably cold and sneezing. The teacher lingers for a few minutes, muttering concerns about the upcoming project. Finally the class is over. By now, his stomach is ready to murder him, citing neglect in the court. Checking his purse, he sees that he is practically broke and heads to the bank ATM.
On the way, he sees a recently graduated senior he knew well. They chat for a while in the middle of the footpath. ‘I miss college’ and ‘it gets harder from now on’ are the two basic variations of the brother’s whole message. He dreads what life would be like if it’s even harder than what it is now.
The ATM adamantly refuses to give him money, shouting in English and Japanese that the account is empty. He nearly calls his family, but stops. His last seven phone calls have been about money, and he feels a little guilty. Maybe later, he thinks. He ambles back towards college, noticing a rally on the way. Aren’t there a few too many rallies these days, he wonders. A familiar senior shouts out to him, and grabs him before hearing any compliant.
Suddenly he is marching along with the rally, without really knowing what it’s all about. The flow of the students drags him for a few blocks. As soon as the senior is out of sight, he squeezes through a narrow gap in the crowd and escapes, panting.
All this is too much excitement in a day for him. His cold is getting even worse, if that was possible. ‘Classes aren’t working for me anyways’, he reasons and decides to skip the remaining ones for the day. Sitting on a college bench, he sees a large group of freshmen moving like a herd of cattle. A cute girl with a button nose catches his eye. She is wearing an exact woolen cap like him, only purple.
Cap! He snatches towards his head. Where’s his cap!? He jumps up and looks around him. Nowhere in sight. He tries to remember where he’d been all day, at what moment could he have lost it. He is getting mighty sick, and needs that cap badly. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it kept out the cold. And he’s broke, so a new one is out of the question. He needs to find it anyhow.
He runs back to the rally he was dragged into, but there are only discarded flyers and empty Frooti packs lying around. He runs back to the bank ATM, but nothing on the way. He traces his path to class, where the students are milling out, done for the day. He asks around but no one has a clue. He rushes back to the tea shop, but the owner hasn’t seen it either.
Darkness descends. Dejected, he loiters back towards the hostel. He can’t think of a single way outside of begging, or calling his family explaining the situation, which he feels is worse. They already brand him a loser. Is this what he is meant to be? Running around in circles and not understanding or being aware of anything? Just being pushed around by a throng of other people, by forces out of his control, by relentless watch needles?
He reaches his room, ready to collapse, ready to go back to the welcoming oblivion of sleep. There, on his table, sits his cap! Did he, fool that he was, not take it with him this morning?
Examining it, a small piece of folded paper falls out. It reads, in green ink and delicate handwriting,
Thought you might miss this. Get well soon :)
