An Open Letter to Greg

If you've never had Mitchell Hall black coffee you're probably not a badass. The single bottle of water on the breakfast table is gone within minutes, and the cracks crawling across the bottom of my empty cup stare into me. So I quench my thirst with that really terrifying coffee, finding that my taste buds are so blind to its bite that it really could be water.

A man holds the door open for me on the way to class, but I am very far away. This makes me angry for the next three hours.

Morning classes ended, somehow. I am trying not to step on the persons heals in front of me as we march to lunch. Every left step we almost collide and I am becoming horribly worried. Between the first eyes right and the color guard I realize this is the same kind of person that holds the door open for people while they are too far away. This makes him more innocent and I am becoming less angry.

We are having a class discussion in my afternoon class, but the stakes of participation are much higher. Last time the instructor began putting check marks next to people's names every time they spoke. Greg raises his hand for the fourth time this class. His tongue begins mindlessly flapping around and I realize through the nonsense that he has stolen the point I was about to make! There is now a roster that has the name "Greg", four checks marks, then the name "JustAnotha'Cadet" -- with no check marks. My hands are becoming desperate, so I swing it through the air and let it glisten in Greg's face.

"Adding to what Greg said," I begin, actually realizing I had nothing to add. The teacher searches the roster for my name and positions the point of his pencil beside it. The entire class is on the verge of tears waiting for me to speak. "I think women were the most important aspect of this whole thing".

Saying this in any situation is a good call.

"Excellent," the teacher exhales and whips that beautiful graphite checkmark.

Italian Air Marshall Guilio Douhet
An Influential Figure in Women's History

I am leaving class and thinking about nothing in particular, trying to not to walk so quickly that I catch up with Greg. We approach the same door. Greg yanks it open and looks over his shoulder to see I am some distance away. I give him a hang loose sign and begin walking faster, happy on the outside, and sinking into crushing misery everywhere else.

As long as this world has doors and Gregs, marching and terrible coffee, there can never exist happiness among it. This means that we have to become happy among ourselves, inside our heads, far away from catastrophic marching collisions, from checkmarks and the role of women in history. Yes, we really have to view all these things from far away to realize how beautiful the silence truly is. Because if we don't, we might taste the coffee tomorrow.