Rise, Fall, Decline by Daniel Finneran

8/9/2019 Rise, Fall, Decline by Daniel Finneran

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/rise-fall-decline-by-daniel-finneran 1/19

Finneran/RISE

Words = 5,188

Rise, Fall, Decline

by

Daniel Finneran

The students, sit, waiting. Some speaking, mingling a bit, others looking over

notes. Or just looking here and there. Many looking downward.

Soon an old man, balding, in his 70s or so, arrives in class. Thin, and tall, with

tweed jacket, tie, and carrying a thin leather briefcase, he steps up to a slightly elevated

section of the floor, the elevated section with the same worn, green-hued tile flooring as

the rest of the floor, and walks to the middle, and behind, the old, beige butcher-block

wooden desk, placing his leather briefcase on the desk, and takes out a few papers. He

places the papers to his right, barely looking up as he lays things out, and then looks up at

the class.

‘Welcome back,’ says the Professor, and the audience, of fifty or so, laugh.

Maybe a little too hard, for what was just said. But all do laugh. All sitting in seats -- with

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ancient, folding, hinged desks, attached to the chair’s arms -- that rise in a terraced, non-

curved amphitheater. ‘Glad all of you could make it once again. Now, before we begin --’

‘Ahh, Professor,’ comes a -- guarded, somewhat hesitant, voice, out from the

students.

‘Yes. -- Yes, hark, I think I hear an angel,’ says the professor. Again, there is

laughter.

‘Ahh, you said, it was okay, at the beginning of the class -- during the first class --

that if, we, had any questions. And…’

‘And you, Dear God, young man have taken me seriously,’ says the Professor.‘Well -- yes, I guess…I…’

‘That is fine, young man -- your name?’

‘Palermo. Vincent Palermo, sir.’

‘I see,’ says the Professor. Turning to the long, twenty-foot long or so, blackboard

behind him. Other blackboards can be pulled down, if need be, and he looks over the

written remnants of a previous class. ‘And, yes, that is true. If you have any questions,

any questions at all -- though as freshman, here at Harvard University, in a gathering of

those that have all placed out of, because of your dazzling AP scores,’ he says. Turning

back around. ‘…English 101, and so all are here, I suppose, with keen logic of the

Harvard enumeration system, in English 102 -- I cannot imagine a single question any of

you might have about most anything -- but please -- continue on. With your query, young

man. Mr. -- Palermo.’

‘Well -- About a week ago, an actress, a Hollywood actress was here. Talking

about her career, her life -- ’

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‘Yes, well -- actresses tend to do this you know,’ says the Professor. The

professor moves a few of the papers about, just a bit. He glances at his still open

briefcase.

Palermo laughs a bit, and smiles, somewhat nervously. ‘Well -- during --

afterwards, when she was taking questions, someone in the audience, a student I think,

used the word “Hetero-normative.” I just -- I have tried to find that word everywhere.

And I just can’t seem to find it. And I was wondering if you might…’

‘Possibly -- as a tenured Professor here at the University -- “Enlighten you”?’

‘Well -- yes. I guess you could say that. Yes, sir.’‘If you call me “sir” once again, young man, you shall be sent off to Yale

University. Do you understand me?’

‘-- Yes, Professor. I do.’

‘Excellent,’ says the Professor. Turning. He looks about, then moves to his right,

and reaches for a piece of chalk, and then, methodically, begins erasing what was on the

board, while beginning, his back to the class, to talk.

‘Usually, it is a few more classes until we cover this, but since our good friend --

Mr., I believe, Palermo,’ says the Professor. Beginning to write on the board. ‘Has helped

us along, why don’t we proceed. You see, here at Harvard, we have…’ says the

Professor, for a moment not speaking, as he continues to write. ‘…We have the hetero-

normative. The hetero-vocative, the hetero-genetive, the hetero-dative, the hetero-

accusative, and the hetero-ablative.’

From ‘hetero-normative’ through ‘hetero-ablative,’ are now listed, vertically, on

the blackboard.

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‘That,’ says the Professor, turning, cleaning the chalk, with a few slight slaps,

from his hands. ‘Is how we “Decline,” here at Harvard. -- And gaining knowledge of

such, I am sure, is why, amongst other reason, you are present, at our fine and venerable

institution, young Palermo. Beyond my charming presence.’

The class continues to be amused. Some -- quite demonstrably so.

‘So -- that is -- for all nouns? That would be the -- declension? The form of the

declension?’ says Palermo.

‘We view that as a somewhat -- antiquated term. We like the term -- Decline.

Here at Harvard, this is, primarily, how we Decline,’ says the Professor, with a handtowards the backboard.

‘Which is, ahh -- different…’ says Palermo.

‘You will find many things are different here at Harvard. Many things. Young

Palermo. If you didn’t, of course -- why would you be here?’

The class again laughs. The Professor gives a quick look at the papers on the

desk, and seems about to move on. Palermo is still, it would seem, somewhat

disconcerted.

‘But -- if I could…’ says Palermo.

‘It is your class, young man. It is a class “of” the student,’ says the Professor.

Looking up towards Palermo.

‘In the paper I just got back -- on “Region, and Indigenous Expression,” I wrote

about Boston,’ says Palermo.

‘An excellent choice, Palermo. I think, and still believe, that even a Harvard

freshman can find Boston, when living in Cambridge.’

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Palermo smiles -- though still somewhat nervous, he persists.

‘Well -- To indicate something about the culture of Boston, I used that old joke.

A very refined woman gets into a taxi, at the airport. And she says, “I have just arrived in

Boston -- there’s a place I’d like to go. It’s a place I had gone to get scrod.” And the taxi

driver says, “You mean you want some fish, or are you using the pluperfect, and you

would like me to arrange a paramour?” You said, I believe…’ says Palermo, looking

down at some papers on his desk.

‘I think I shall open a window. Do any mind if we let in a little Cambridge air?’

says the Professor.All in the class nod No. One student saying, ‘Don’t worry about us, Professor. We

can take it.’

‘Ahh, but I do. I worry about you all, everyday. Believe me.’

The Professor gets to the window, opens it, gives a quick lean out, and a quick

look around. He then turns and begins walking back in. ‘Well, it’s all still there. Most of

Cambridge.’

‘Ahh --’

‘Yes, Palermo. Persist, Palermo, my dear boy,’ says the Professor.

‘You said -- “This is a designation that we do not prefer here at Harvard. The

‘pluperfect.’ But of this you shall learn.” I’m not sure I understand.’

‘Well, Palermo -- let me explain. Are any of you here perfect?’

All in the class shake their heads No. A few looking at each other, smiling a bit,

moving their heads back and forth. Palermo also indicating No -- assuming, it would

seem, he isn’t.

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‘Then, why is it that our verbs be designated in such a way as to insinuate that

such -- that “perfection,” is possible. The Perfect, the Imperfect, the Past Perfect, the

Future Perfect, the Plu -perfect -- this quest for perfection then -- or even declared non -

perfection -- of course, being inculcated, through our language. Producing, one could

conjecture, logically enough, those problems, concomitant, that are, and have been -- --

and unfortunately, in the short term, at least, will continue to be -- a plague for all of us.

Here on this. Our fragile little planet.’

‘And -- well --…’

‘Don’t be shy, Palermo. You are amongst friends,’ says the Professor.‘It also -- says, -- “We always try to avoid Absolutes. Here at Harvard. So it

would be best, when possible, to avoid the Pluperfect, because there are some rumors that

though it could take Relative, or Absolute form, at one time. And there might have even

been a Pluperfect Absolute. Though we are fairly sure that has gone away. Though if you

use the Pluperfect, you might eventually end up using the Pluperfect Absolute, or the

Absolute that had been associated with other tenses, and then… -- and do you see where

were are going with this? How confusing it can all be?”’

‘Very true, Palermo. I am quite sure I did write that. And look how confused we

all are even at this stage. And it can be somewhat confusing, initially -- some of it even

involves conjecture amongst us, here on your much revered faculty -- though I believe I

was leading you, as I always hope to, in the most appropriate direction, relative to all of

this. As best I can, Palermo. As best I can,’ says the Professor. He thinks for a moment,

then picks up a piece of chalk, and seems to be checking it over for a moment, and then

remains standing behind the desk.

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‘But -- I don’t think I understand. -- How then -- if you are using that sort of, way

of “Declining” --…; so, I guess, no longer using the traditional way, of designating the

Nominative -- subjective? -- Objective, and Possessive. I guess. I think. -- But, then are

there new ways for verbs? New ways of -- conjugating?’

‘Well, first of all, Palermo,’ says the Professor, turning back towards the

blackboard. For a moment he glances back at the class. ‘And I remember when most

freshman would sleep through most of English 102. -- First of all, here at Harvard, we --

as, I believe, you pointed out yourself, young Palermo -- we have no “nominative” -- we

have a “normative,”’ says the Professor. Circling the ‘normative’ of ‘hetero-normative,’then turning back towards the class, chalk still in hand, and leans on the chair that is

pushed in under the desk. ‘And who amongst you, here, would want to be “possessed”?

Possessed by another?’

Some of the students seem a little confused, but most shake their head No.

‘A-a-a-nd,’ says the Professor. ‘Who amongst you, here today, would want to be

an “object”? To be “objectified”?’

Again, there is a slight bit of confusion, but then near agreement, as most begin to

understand, and then most shaking their heads No.

‘Of course, none of us wants to be possessed, or to be objects. Then, why, should

there be a “possessive,” and why should there be an “objective”? Haven’t we, in so many

ways, had enough of that?’ says the Professor. ‘And, don’t all of us, in so many ways,

strive to be normal. To be,’ says the Professor, turning to the blackboard, hand extended:

-- ‘“normative.” Or, as one would say, “normal.”’

The class, again, seems to agree.

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. ‘Well, now that we…’ says the Professor. He returns the chalk to its tray, and

turns, moving, head slightly down, towards the desk, sliding his briefcase to the side,

placing the papers in the middle of the desk, and closing the briefcase. ‘Now that we have

cleared that up…’

‘Though -- Sir. Professor. I don’t mean to…’ begins Palermo.

‘Ahh, I believe,’ says the Professor, putting a hand to his ear. ‘I believe I have

again heard an angel.’ The Professor looks up, slightly, to his right. ‘Is there any way we

can help you again, young Palermo. On this crisp, bright, beautiful New England

morning?’‘Well -- I just -- if I could. I guess I just have, if it’s okay. A few more questions.’

‘Please -- it’s Vincent. Am I right?’

‘Yes, si… -- Yes. It’s Vincent,’ he says.

‘Your questions, young Vincent, are why I am here in my very own existence. As

I leave and breathe, young Vincent. Live and breathe. So please proceed.’

‘If you are using, well, inflections for nouns. Then, with verbs -- I’m just not sure

what the rules are. For conjugating?’

‘Ahh, conjugating,’ says the Professor. He again, with light slaps, cleans the chalk

from his hands. ‘Conjugating. Here at Harvard, young Vincent, we have no rules for

conjugation. How you conjugate, when you conjugate, and with whom you conjugate,

that is up to you. We do not feel it is up to us, as an institution, to in any way, involve

ourselves in conjugation. That, we feel, and it seems -- and, I believe, most of you agree

-- is a personal matter.’

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Palermo still seems a bit confused, though most of the rest of the class nod in

agreement, thinking the Professor has made an excellent point. A few with quite

significant nods.

‘Then -- is that -- when you Decline the noun. Is that the only declension? So that

you don’t have a gender?’

‘At Harvard, young Vincent, we have no agenda at all. Your agenda is your own.

But this, yes,’ says the Professor, turning back to the blackboard. ‘Is how we Decline.

There does need to be a few rough guideposts, steering mechanisms of sorts, for

expression, and this -- ’ says the Professor, hand towards the board, ‘is, at Harvard, howwe Decline. And, of course, hope that you will also Decline with us. In the coming four

years.’

‘Okay, but -- ’ said Palermo.

‘Uh-oh,’ says the Professor. Almost physically ‘bracing’ himself, in a jocular

manner, for Palermo’s question.

Palermo smiles, again somewhat nervously. Though playing along. ‘You did say

-- in terms of verbs -- well, in general I guess -- that you did not want any absolutes.’

‘And where would you find them? Do they even exist? And where, in your lives,

in any of your lives, do you find absolutes? There was a time, if I dropped a ball, here in

front of you, that one could say, in absolute terms, that it fell downward. Though, if we

go down the hall, to the Theoretical Physics Department -- have you ever thought about

visiting them, Vincent?’

Palermo smiles again -- though is still caught up in what he is thinking about.

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‘Those gentleman, down the hall, will tell you, that not only are we not sure that

that ball is falling, but that it is actually here. In this dimension. Or something along those

lines. It can all be somewhat daunting at times,’ says the Professor.

The Professor takes the papers, puts them on top of the brief case, and leaves one

in the middle of the desk, before him.

‘Though, of course -- ’ begins Palermo.

The Professor -- again -- holds tight, and peers over his glasses, up towards

Palermo, and then he extends his hand, and arm, for Palermo to continue.

‘If, you are going to use inflections, when you -- Decline -- the nouns. -- Well,you said that it is preferred that there would be no absolutes. But, in an inflected

language, like Latin for example, they of course have, I believe, the Ablative Absolute.’

‘Let me guess, Vincent -- Catholic School?’

‘Ahh -- yes, sir. I did go to Catholic School.’

‘Wouldn’t be the Jesuits, would it?’

‘Yes, uh-huh, it was a Jesuit school.’

The Professor nods, smiling towards the rest of the class, and it all seems very

good-natured. He returns, with a glance, up towards Palermo.

‘Well, of course, the Romans did have an Ablative Absolute. And I believe they

had a Pluperfect, possibly, Absolute. Though I am not absolutely sure about that. There

was even a time we could all check that. When there was a Classics Department. But,

somewhere along the line, it got lost, I believe. And is now nowhere to be found. I hope

the same does not happen to you, young Vincent; -- But, Vincent -- where are they now?

These Romans. When is the last time you met a Roman?’

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Palermo thinks.

‘I mean -- there are some interesting people here in Cambridge, but a Roman?

And, that does not even, of course touch on the fact that -- well, who really even ever

understood the Ablative Absolute in the first place.’

‘That is true, sir. It was difficult.’

‘I believe the last person that understood it, or used it, was Milton. And he can be

a bit of trouble himself. -- Absolutes. Where have they gotten us? People that are

“objects,” that are “possessed,”-- where has this gotten us? An “objective” case? What,

my dear friend, Mr. Palermo, could possibly be objective about this world all about us? Itis a world, proven more and more each day, even by science, that is an ongoing,

continuing subjective . Or, as I think you might have mentioned, young Palermo, the

Nominative. Though that it is taken care of -- because we of course now have the

Normative.

‘The world being this continuing, ongoing subjective because, of course, there is,

one can say near absolutely, very little absolute about any of it. And of it, and in it, of

course, you must make your way. A world where, if truth be told, most people live in

nothing less than the Subjunctive -- a world, often, of the hypothetical. What if…? If I

were…I wish I were…If I had…If he hadn’t -- If only such and such were to happen. As

it explains, amazingly enough, right there in the dictionary. -- If only my life were not,

well…-- Would that it were, as they say, Would that it were. Though, that, is a story for

another day. -- So do we even need such designations? Absolutes and such. Do they serve

a suitable purpose? And we feel it is our duty, here, to give you the suitable tools to do

just that, young Mr. Palermo. Make your way. A means of, if you will, contending with

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the world’s constantly evolving contingencies and frameworks. And buffets. A means

of…’ says the Professor, his hand reaching, slightly, back towards the blackboard. ‘If you

will -- of Declining. And what would you think of that, Mr. Palermo? If we were to help

you along your way? With such contingencies and concerns? Would such meet with your

approval?’

‘Ahh, Yes, sir,’ says Palermo. ‘Yes. I guess there’s just a lot of it, at this time, I

don’t really understand.’

‘We know that, Palermo. We know that. And that,’ says the Professor. His hand

out, and forward, then to his side, seeming to indicate everything that is around him. ‘Mydear Vincent, is why you are here.’

The class laughs and smiles. A few, again, with great fervor. Palermo also smiles.

‘Yes, sir. Yes.’

‘And if you call me “sir” again, Palermo, I’ll have you not only transferred to

Yale, but I’ll make sure you have to graduate from such an infernal place. -- It’s

Professor, or Professor Jennings. “Sir” is from a servant-master age, Mr. Palermo. A

servant-master age. -- And now, if young Palermo will allow us -- it’s onto our reading.

Pages fifty through one-hundred of your Celine, I believe was your assignment. And, do

we have any questions about Mr. Celine? I think Mr. Palermo, for the moment, is taking a

well-deserved rest.’

The Professor continues his lecture, the class ends, Palermo exits, and walks

down the ancient steps. The middle of the steps, as he looks down, worn by the decades --

possibly even centuries -- of use. It is now near mid-morning or so, and there is still that

smell of that janitorial antiseptic that always, it seems, is somewhere in the classroom

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buildings, though especially in the morning. So for a moment or two, as he looks down,

he seems to be walking down across, and through, not just worn, and ancient steps, but

also through the near-ammonia that is used to keep them clean. He then steps out, and

across the Yard.

He walked over to his old red-brick dorm, up the three flights of stairs, dropped

his books off in his room, and then out to use the bathroom. He was lost in thought,

thinking of this and that, and for a moment was jolted by seeing the girl at the sink. The

same girl, he quickly realized, he had seen a few times before in the bathroom -- and now

wearing a flimsy tank-top. He had also seen her a few nights ago at a party. Yesterdaymorning, when he was at the sink, a girl had been taking a shower, and when she reached

out to get her towel, he had had to look away so as not to see her partially nude.

‘Hey, Vincent,’ said the girl. ‘Hey, Zooey,’ he said. She was always upbeat. She

seemed like a bit of a space-shot -- but someone at that party had said she had perfect

scores on her math SATs, and had enough AP credits to graduate, at least, half-a-year

early.

She leaned forward, doing something with tweezers up around her eyebrows.

‘How goes it?’ she said.

‘Pretty good. Pretty good,’ he said. For a moment he was confused. He really

didn’t want to use the bathroom with a girl in there. At home, he didn’t even share a

bathroom with his sisters.

But realized he -- probably -- just couldn’t walk out. This was just the way it was,

so he addressed what he needed to address, using the urinal, and then walked to the sink,

and washed his hands. ‘Everything going okay?’ he said.

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‘Excellent. Just got to keep the eyebrows hummin’. Know what I mean,’ she said.

‘Yup. Definitely.’ Palermo thought for a moment. Thinking he might, possibly,

think of something interesting to say. But then just said -- ‘Definitely. -- But everything

else going okay? Classes and everything?’

She kept focused on the tweezers and her eyebrows. She was leaning in, forward,

and was definitely not wearing a bra. ‘Oh, you know. They’re classes. Can’t live with

them, can’t live without them, right?’

He thought for a moment. ‘Yup -- You’re right there. -- Well, gotta go.’

‘Okay. See ya’ round,’ she said. Still focused in on her eyebrows.He walked back to his room. He saw two of his suitemates, and two guys from

down the hall, sitting out there in the living room. ‘Hey, man,’ said Palermo.

‘Hey, Vince.’ ‘Vince-ent!-- What’s goin’ on?’ ‘Join us for some “conversation,”

Vince?’ said one of his roommates -- as he was lighting a joint. All those in the living

room laughed, and Palermo laughed a bit also. ‘Naaa -- not right now. I’ll be out in a

sec.’

Palermo went into his room, and put his books away, on a corner of his desk, and

took off his sweater. It had started out cold, in the morning, but was now getting warmer.

He stood, thinking for a moment. Then checked his pants. Making sure he had his wallet.

He stood thinking for a moment more. Outside he could hear the guys in the living room

talking.

‘But what Jefferson was saying -- he was talking about the power of the

corporation back then. He saw it then. That the corporations were going to be the

problem.’

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‘The corporations? I was reading an article -- I think it was in The New Yorker or

somewhere. My father gets it. Or my mother. I don’t know. And it was saying -- if we

hadn’t declared our independence, all that would have happened is, we’d be Canada. I

mean, we’d be living in Canada. And Canada’s not always at war with people. Most of

the universities -- paid for by Canada. I mean -- if we just hadn’t declared our

independence…hey, you know...’

‘You might have a better chance with that Canadian chick down the hall.’

Palermo heard them all laughing. He thought for a moment more, and for some

reason -- he was not sure why, decided to…-- So he checked his wallet. Made sure he hadsome money, put his wallet back into his pants, and he walked back out into the thin

hallway, leading to the living room, that he and his three other suitemates shared.

‘Gotta head out. Just pick up some things down at the Square,’ said Palermo.

He saw his roommate, Emerson, inhaling the joint. ‘You just tell them, while

you’re down there, Vince, that we should all be Canadians. But in the meantime, we’re

sorry.’

All in the living room laughed again. ‘No problem. I’ll let them know,’ said

Palermo.

‘And I’ll give you a ten, Vince, if you can get a picture of a Cliffey with a bra,’

said one of the guys, who lived down the hall.

Palermo went back down the stairs, and the inside of this ancient building had

been redone, so the stairs were newer than in the classroom building. They were not yet

worn in the middle, from years, and years of use. He wondered how long that took. To

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wear down the steps. How long these steps would have to be there. How much antiseptic.

To keep everything clean.

He passed through the white, heavy wooden doors, and out into Harvard Yard.

Out into a beautiful Fall late-morning. The sun starting to get high, a few scattered

clouds, and a sky that gleamed with blue. Some late-summer warmth warming the air,

and the trees still green. You felt, as you walked, like you just wanted to breathe in all the

air you could. Before you knew it, it was winter. And you just wanted to breathe in the

air, and the warmth, made clean by all the trees.

He walked over one of the Yard’s paths, past the ancient red-brick buildings, andout through gate, and left, towards the Square.

The beeping, and yelling, and bustle of the Square there in an instant. Leaving the

Yard, sometimes, it was like leaving a time-warp. It was like those brick walls, and

ancient wrought-iron gates, could keep out even noise. It was like even the barometric

pressure changed, or something.

He walked a little more quickly. The energy of the Square seemed to demand it.

But still with the stroll that, from a distance, marked him as a student. The students, you

could usually mark them, walked with a certain steady gate. Not too harried. He got to

the edge of Mass. Ave., halting for a moment for traffic, while he thought about things.

His head down, just for a moment. Thinking. A car pulled up in front of him.

‘Excuse me,’ said a man. It was a good-sized American sedan, and a middle-aged

woman was in the passenger seat. ‘We know we’re on Mass. Ave. And we’re looking to

get to Concord Street. But just want to make sure -- if we follow Mass. Ave., up through

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the square, after it turns right, up here. Will we be heading North? We just want to make

sure. We forgot our map.’

‘Sure,’ said Palermo. He stood back up for a moment. He, for a moment, seemed

to be perusing all that was before him. The Square. All that was beyond the Square. All

that the eye could see. ‘Sure.’ He leaned back down.

‘Well, I know Concord Street is over there, on the other side of the Square. But --

really, if I were to be honest -- relative to North or South. East or West. -- Well to be

honest, that can be subjective. It depends on a lot of other factors.’

The man leaned a little to his right, and for a moment glanced up. ‘Subjective.Subjective?!’ he then barked. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, turning back towards the steering

wheel, then looking out towards the traffic, preparing to pull back out. ‘“Subjective”! I

told you, Betty. They’re all half-nuts around here. I told you they’re all half-nuts.’

The man, after a moment or two, then pulling out, and up towards the right-

leaning curve that would bring him through the rest of the Square.

Palermo looked back-and-forth, briefly, then stepped out onto the brick-lined

crosswalk, and a car had to stop short. Palermo, in only a few weeks, had begun to learn

the ways of all college students, and all residents, of his now native city. That the entire

city was to be treated, in the end, as just a large college campus. And cars were to always

stop -- even stop short, or swerve out of the way -- for any pedestrian.

Palermo walked across the street, passing along the side of the outdoor tables in

front of Au Bon Pain.

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He neared the front door, and he thought for a moment. Completely, for a

moment, absorbed in thought. Thinking, in that same way, that would allow him to pass

through traffic, without actually recognizing cars. A sort of force-field of thought.

For some reason, his high school guidance counselor popped into his head. Her

voice. ‘I really think you would fit in there. I think it’s the place for you.’

He walked through the front door. There were two lines, and he got into the rear

of the line to the right.

He thought of his uncle. Who had gone to Harvard. ‘I think it would be the place

for you. I really think you’ll fit in fine.’He waited at the end of the line, looking up at the lighted menu board. Beginning

to decide.

He thought of that local alum, that lived in his town, that he met. He went to lunch

with him after his acceptance. The alum, saying after the lunch -- ‘I really do think it

would be a good fit. I really think you’ll find, in the end, it’s the place for you.’

For a moment or two, he listened to some people order, and he then, for some

reason, glanced back out at the Square. He watched a few of the students -- you could

always tell the students -- crossing the street. At the people handing out flyers. At some

of the other pedestrians. Walking this way, and that way. Looking across the street. At

one of the eight or nine-foot high brick walls of the school.

He turned back towards the line. Looking, again, up at the menu board. Deciding

what he would order. Something with some caffeine. And maybe a croissant. And, for

some reason, he thought about all the anxieties he had had, all summer. About whether he

would fit in. How he would do. Was this the right place for him? Then, as the line moved

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forward, and he got closer to ordering, he thought, to himself, -- I think I’ll be fine. I

think this is the place for me. And the line moved forward, and he moved forward, too.

Thinking -- I do think it’s the right place for me. The line moved forward again. I do

think it’s gonna be the right place. I think I’m going to be okay. He then reached into his

pocket, and took out his wallet. The line was moving. He moved forward in line. And

soon it would be his turn to order.

-- END --

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Rise, Fall, Decline by Daniel Finneran