Ghost Story

I am taking an English course, on the modern short story. The syllabus is in Comic Sans, which is disappointing but excusable. The first day, the professor asks, How many seniors? Several hands go up. Oh good, she says, when we talk about sex, you'll have some experience. I want to raise my hand, I'm a fifth year. The first day, we read the first two paragraphs of The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World, Ever, by Márquez. I've never read it. A few have, they drop terms like magical realism but the professor isn't really into it, for which I'm thankful. When I want to participate, my heart pounds like it did when I was an undergrad.

I've been saying, I feel like a ghost, walking around this campus again. They don't recognize me, I don't recognize them, for the most part. Day two of this class the professor wants everyone to say their name and something weird about themselves. Oh, I'll tell them I like a tongue sandwich, that's kind of weird. There's a girl who can beat Minesweeper super fast, there's a boy who can solve the Rubik's Cube super fast, of course. I'm sitting next to the chess champion of Arkansas or something. And then the guy next to him...the professor completely skips me, and no one knows my name or that I like a tongue sandwich.

Yeah, I'm back at school. Land of MWF and TTh.