Perspective Practice - Anya

My eyelids grow heavy as the sound of my typing slows down with every word I write. Uh oh. I told myself last class that I wouldn’t doze off and I will not do it again. I continue typing as the professor explains the life cycle of malaria transmission in humans. Her voice slowly fades into the background. I look at the time on my screen—only fifteen minutes before class ends. I can stay awake for fifteen minutes. However, my mind begins to lose focus from what’s on the board. Directly in front of me, I stare at the back of a familiar boy’s head instead. Was he in my anatomy lecture two years ago? Or was it gen chem? What was his name? I think he lived in the same dorm as me during my freshman year… I open my eyes. Oops. I didn’t realize they were closed. I look at the board then back to my computer screen. I missed two slides. I look at my notes. The words on the screen slowly morph into a jumble of letters underlined with red squiggles. It’s like my brain shut down before my fingers could stop what they were doing. I look at the time. There is still another thirteen minutes left of class—hopefully the professor didn’t notice.
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Even though her head remains upright, her eyes are closed shut. If she were in a giant lecture hall where faces become indiscernible to professors after the first rows of chairs, she wouldn’t feel as guilty for dozing off. Except this is a cramped room with only twenty students who are sitting in tiny wooden desks in Spaulding Hall—a place where taxidermy beetles and falcons reside at every corner. Her computer screen illuminates her bloodshot eyes as they continue to fight to stay awake. It is nothing against the class or the professor. In fact, she has slowly grown to enjoy learning about human and animal parasites despite her falling asleep in class for the past few lectures.

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