You know what?" I asked Cheryl, "This stinks." We were both sitting on my bed in my tiny single, poring over our ORCs in an attempt to get our lives in order.
"Ok, if I do a thesis, then I have to take only English classes for the rest of my life. And if I don't do a thesis, then I can't take any English classes ever again so that I can get in another 80s level course to finish my other major."
"What are you talking about? What you just said makes no sense," replied Cheryl.
"Yeah, I know. I have to figure this out. I have to get my life in order. After three years at this place, you'd think I would have figured all this out by now. Ok, is Women's Studies a Humanities or a Social Science? Oh, forget it. Let's just go for coffee or something. You know, I really hate being a senior. I wish I were a freshman again. More than anything, I'd just like to pick three random classes and get it over with."
"I wish I were a freshman again too," said Cheryl, as we left for Dirt Cowboy. "I would do things a lot differently. Freshman fall I took Math 12, CS 9, Bio 15 and Chem 5."
"Um, why?" I asked Cheryl, who is a Film major.
"I thought I was a math person," she said with a shrug. "Got over that pretty quick."
As Cheryl and I trudged along, we bumped into an acquaintance of ours who, because of conflicting D-plans, I hadn't seen in six months.
"Laura!" she said. "Are you taking the GRE next week?"
"I was going to. But I don't think I've prepared well enough."
"Oh my God, I know what you mean. I wanted to take Kaplan in the spring and The Princeton Review in the summer, but between working at the law firm and clerking for that judge, I just didn't have time. So what did you do to brush up?"
"I bought a book."
"A book?"
She looked startled.
"Well that's good. I mean, anything's better than nothing, right?" she said, trying to cheer me up.
"Oh yeah. Well, I'm freezing here, and it's starting to rain, so I'll give you a blitz later, Ok Beth?"
"Sure, and maybe I'll see you at the test next week."
I kept the sweet smile plastered on my face until I was sure she was out of visual and auditory range.
"Of course. And maybe I'll have dropped out of school and become a television repair man by then. I hate her."
"Oh, come on," said Cheryl. "You don't hate her. And you could never be a television repair man. You're not a man."
"I don't want to grow up, Cheryl."
"I know. You want to be a freshman."
***********************
This is just a tiny snippet from a day in the life of one undecided senior. During any given hour, I have a one in four chance of having to answer the most dreaded of all questions:
"So, what are you doing next year?"
I remember the days when the most complicated questions I had to answer were: "What's your name?" "Where are you from?" and "What were your SAT scores?" I want to be a freshman. I want another four years of freedom before me. I want to say hello to everyone who passes me on the Green as I walk to class. I want to get lost on my way to Thayer. I want to walk along campus with 72 people, only three of whom I know. I want to be a freshman.
