You need to study, you think as you walk down a sun-soaked, dry pavement. The air is humid, your hands are sweaty. Your shoes click on the cement, and you think you can almost hear it, but you cannot. It is a background noise, sidelined along with the bustling city cars and people you pass while walking down the street. You can hear nothing but the incessant, buzzing voice in your head that reminds you tests are coming, projects are due and the clock is ticking.
You need to study.
A bead of precipitation rolls down your sunburned face; you have been outside too long, and you are in a hurry to get home. A woman holding the hand of a child steps past you -- you collide with her shoulder, effectively throwing her into the small child. She shouts a profanity at you, shaking an accusing finger at your back. You do not notice her. You continue speed-walking down the path, passing a construction site. The men in yellow hard-hats dig into the street; the sound is loud, bothersome to a woman sitting in heavy traffic in a blue SUV. She rests her face in her hand and pinches the bridge of her nose, cranking up the sound of her CD and rolling the window up. The roar of the demolition tools fades slightly to her, but to you it is not there. The construction site is but a passing scene, and it is completely irrelevant to you. The thundering of the truck engines are but a quiet hum when competing with the thoughts you have in your head about the questions you will not be able to answer. The hot and acrid smell of fresh tar is nothing compared to the smell of your imminent failure should you neglect to study.
You need to study.
You know it better than any advisor, teacher or parent. You know it better than any factual information you may be asked to recount on a blank piece of paper that stares vacantly back at you. But that paper will not be blank for long, you promise, because you will study. You’ll study the whole week, the month, the year. You will study.
You are visually relieved when you reach the bus station on time; your shoulders sag with a sigh that escapes your cracked and peeling lips. After you study, you will break the habit of biting them when you’re nervous. After you study, you will be happy.
You wait impatiently for the bus, after all, you were on time; the bus is not. You wonder if the bus driver ever took the time to study. Maybe that’s why he got stuck being a bus driver; he walked impetuously on the street, neglecting to go home and study. This thought makes you nervous, and before you notice it, you are chewing on your nails anxiously.
You look down at your silver watch. It is the only thing you’ve truly seen today, other than the calendars that ominously count the days left until your next test. The bus is now precisely three minutes late. You are angry, and you scoff disapprovingly.
“This bus is never late,” You mutter irritably.
A group of teenage girls overhear and give you strange, judging looks. You do not notice them. You do not hear them when they talk. You are focusing on the fact that the bus is now four minutes late, and you’ve had quite enough. With one last glance at your watch, you step into the street.
You look past the rows of cars, checking everywhere for the front of the bus, proudly lit with its number. The sun is roasting the top of your head, but you do not care about that. You care that it is hindering your view, so you put your hand on your forehead like a sun visor.
A booming horn pierces the hot air once, prominently rising above all the other sounds that the cars are making. It is the bus, you know it, but you do not see it. It sounds close, but it is not visible to you, so your stand on your toes and lean from left to right, hoping to catch a glimpse before you step back onto the curb.
The strong, tremulous sound of the bus horn goes off again. This time it is very close, even closer than before, yet still, you do not see it. You wonder if your mind is playing tricks on you, which would be gravely inappropriate, considering you need to be able to trust it to remember the things you will study.
You feel a hand on your arm, and you are immediately enraged. You need to be thinking about studying. You turn to snap at the person holding your arm, but notice he is shouting something at you first. You momentarily forget about studying to listen.
You tune in, giving yourself just enough time to hear him yell in a stern, yet panicked voice, “MOVE!”
Your eyes widen, but your realization comes too late.
A shrill, ear-splitting shriek is right behind you, and before you can step back onto the curb, or so much as glance back down at your watch, the front of the bus hits you with such an impact that you go flying backwards.
While you lay on the pavement, your head aching and your body frighteningly numb, you look up at the sign at the bus stop.
You were on the wrong side.
Your watch had been 7 minutes late all week.
But that was not remotely the worst part.
The worst part, you conclude in your foggy and fading consciousness, is that you would not get to study. You would not need to study; all tests, all hours wasted on staring at a book, were useless now that they would mean nothing to your non-existent future.
You think of how you wish that you had been a more open and adventurous person, like you think you once were -- if you were, your mind can no longer function enough to recall.
And now, you think your last, final thought: you, and that test you needed to study for, have something in common in this fleeting moment.
You are both blank.