Today was the last day of Linear Algebra. God knew about what a hard day this would be for those resting under Mikael Pichot’s gentle wings; the sun was hidden and the air thick with humidity. Alienor and I made it onto our usual bus and spent the trip in a haze, both much more silent than usual. I didn’t want to waste our last moments on this treasured commute, but I couldn’t escape the nagging thought at the back of my mind that I would never be taught by Pichot again.
It had been two semesters of our tri-weekly commute to Stewart Bio, and I reminisced about some of the good times we’ve had. The first week of fall semester, I didn’t know Alienor was in Linear Algebra and we were in completely different sections. Part of me wonders if I screwed myself over by transferring classes – our old professor Romain had his strengths (I am sure) but teaching was not one of them. Still, I didn’t mind. My passion for Linear Algebra was soon to begin. In our first midterm, the class was divided by last name. I took it in Leacock 26, Alienor in 132. It was a Thursday and I rolled my eyes at the scent of stale beer emerging from BDA in the basement. Truthfully, I was glad for the smell. BDA is something that I love to get annoyed at, especially during exams. The theme for this week was Halloween, so I was also pleased to judge the costumes while getting a preview for the upcoming Halloweekend.
I took the exam, delusionally confident about everything save the proofs (turns out, the numbers and calculations that I was so sure about were my downfall). The time passed quickly and I was soon out, waiting for Alienor under the shelter of the Arts building entrance. Minutes ticked by and I got increasingly nervous as the stream of people leaving Leacock slowed; she was nowhere to be found. Her phone had died and mine was freaking out from the moisture.
I imagined that it was similar to how people must have felt waiting for their friends in the days before watches. I had no idea how much time had passed. I wondered if she had gone home but I waited anyway. Eventually, through the rain, I saw her emerge. She told me that her exam had a delayed start because someone outside the classroom had a seizure, and I thought back on my days as an epileptic. We discussed the test and walked to the bus.
A couple of months went by and it was time for our final. I have always loved standardized testing, so finals at the fieldhouse are where I shine. I don’t necessarily do well, but the antsy energy feeds me. I like the sound of knees tapping and I like to pass judgments on everyone’s preferred pencils and pens. The recent TA strikes made me nervous that I wouldn’t get my spring fieldhouse exam this term, but luckily Pichot stayed true to his syllabus.
A week or so later, it was winter break and I thought a bit about how the next semester of linear would be. It was a 9:30 class, so I was nervous about whether Alienor and I would take too many liberties when deciding whether to skip.
The semester got off to a bad start. I was back before any of my roommates and struggled to hold myself accountable on this Stewart Bio adventure. Luckily, immediately as they returned, this streak ended and Alienor and I hardly missed a class. I can’t give us too much credit, as Pichot called us like a siren, it was almost impossible to sleep in.
One of the things I love about having a class in Stewart Bio is the social value. Whenever people hear about it they seem pained on my behalf, imagining the trek to reach it. They commend me for making it to class and I bask in the glory. I knew that he would be there every class with his transition lenses, small briefcase and white button-up. He began to feel like a celebrity.
So, naturally, it is not a class I like to skip. Also, it boosted my ego after class was done to arrive at the GIC before the masses, laughing at those who were still sleeping.
Like all good things do, the semester flew by before I knew it. Our days at Stewart Bio were first numbered, and then they were over. I was reckoning with this when my summer course, also in Stewart Bio, got canceled. It was a rough week. Our housing search had just dealt us our second crushing blow, and I was now struck with the knowledge that I would have to take comp sci instead of ordinary differential equations. It was nothing short of heartbreaking.
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