I stroll on in to PR Programming, as I do every Tuesday/Thursday at 9:30 a.m. Seems like a pretty typical day. I say hi to Tara, compliment Laura Beth’s hair, give the daily fist-bump to Maddie, take my seat. I’m a few minutes late but what else is new.
An ordinary day, right?
The lecture begins and I diligently start to take notes. My teacher asks a few open-ended questions and we all partake in a lively discussion about Facebook and other fun PR things. But as the discussion continues, something bizarre happens. I’m in the middle of a (truly thought-provoking) sentence when all of a sudden, my desks begins to shake. But…it’s not my desk. Upon further investigation, it’s actually the floor that’s shaking – and the walls ?
I realize the entire building is wobbling – it’s very subtle but cannot go unnoticed.
Or can it? I glance at Tara to see if perchance she felt the minor earthquake-esque sensation. She looks back at me, baffled as to why I stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. I suppose I must have been the only one to feel it.
The rumbling of the ground gets me thinking. If this is my last day on earth, what have I accomplished? I never met a Franco, but I did go paragliding in Switzerland. In conclusion, I should’ve been paying more attention in class than listing tasks left on my bucket list.
A few minutes later, the shaking resumes. But this time, the shaking is accompanied by a sound: similar to that of a mother bear whose cub has just been threatened, and not unlike a lawnmower being dragged across eleven consecutive metal sprinklers. My desk continues to tremble as this low-pitched, drawn-out roar ensues for a few more seconds. I CANNOT be the only one hearing and feeling this. Again though, I look to Tara – but alas, I am alone yet again.
I contemplate the idea that perhaps I am losing my mind. This notion wouldn’t be too far-fetched: after all, I haven’t slept through a full night since I watched Ellen as a guest on Fallon. It’s possible that all of this adrenaline has clouded the accuracy of my senses. That’s a thing, right?
I decide to ignore the imaginary volcanic activity to which I am the sole witness. But the fifth time it happens, both the grumble and the quaking have increased to an incomprehensible level. Finally I look to Tara, and she – along with the rest of the class – too has heard it. My gaze darts around the room, its urgency fueled by curiosity and a sense of impending danger. WHAT IS THIS EARTH-SHATTERING NOISE?
At last, the class’s amalgamated glance lands upon Maddie, sitting behind me. Her face is the distinct shade of red I imagine that boy was exposed to in “The Giver.” Arms crossed, head ducked, she can’t reach for the words to say that this post-apocalyptic encounter we all just experienced was none other than her growling stomach. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Maddie. Just call me next time and I’ll bring you a taco.