Jordan lay in bed surveying the ceiling. When am I going to fall asleep? He closed his eyes, opened them, sat up, swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and waited for a moment before standing.
That cup of coffee after dinner was a mistake.
Careful not to wake Sarah, Jordan carefully arose from bed, walked about the room, and then the apartment. He rattled the front and porch doorknobs. They’re locked. He touched his phone and watch. They’re charging; the alarm’s set for seven. Once back under covers, he adjusted his pillow and rolled onto his side.
Like an explosion, a light bulb flashed in his head. His heart raced. He held his breath. A hollow feeling filled his chest. “I forgot I have an exam tomorrow. I’m not prepared. I haven’t studied,” he muttered aloud.
Jordan threw off the covers, jumped up, and ran to his desk. He turned on the lamp and rifled through his notebooks searching for the one from that course. Unable to find the notebook, he opened a text and flipped through the pages in a mad frenzy to locate the right material. Is this even the correct text for this class?
What will be covered on the test? He stopped turning pages and stared straight ahead. I don’t know what to study. He gripped the book with white knuckles, his legs weak. Words ran together. Too much to master. Not enough time.
The speed of his breathing matched the rate at which he turned pages. Each breath came faster and faster. His head began to spin. He felt lightheaded. The information he tried to learn seemed unfamiliar. No surprise,he realized. I haven’t been to class; nothing sticks. I can’t concentrate.
I’m going to fail, echoed over and over in his head. How could I have let this happen? Jordan continued to rifle through pages, but uncertain what he needed to know, he learned nothing.
Dawn came and the daylight crept into the room. Time had run out. He threw on jeans and a tee. I’ll go by the Department office and apply for an incomplete or drop the course, but, e realized those deadlines have long passed.
Jordan emerged from the apartment building. Again, his breathing increased. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he wanted to vomit. Nothing appeared familiar. Where am I? Sweat ran down his face, and his mouth was dry.
Jordan looked around. Where is the exam being held? There was nothing to remember, he had never been to class and was uncertain where to go. How could I have blown this off?
Jordan began to run from building to building hoping to trigger a memory or find a classmate who might direct him. I’m going to fail.
Defeated, he fell to his knees and pounded the ground. People walked around him. No one stopped. As hard as he tried to shout, he emitted no sound. Breathless, sweat-drenched, limbs shaking, he reached for the sky and released an anguished prolonged cry.
“Jordan, Jordan,” Sarah called as she shook Jordan awake. “Are you okay? You were yelling in your sleep.”
“What?” he said, disoriented at first. “I must have been dreaming. What time is it?”
“Three AM. Are you still worried about meeting my parents tomorrow?”
He answered her question with a moan, slow even breathing, and a soft snore.
Dr. Peter J Barbour turned in his reflex hammer to become a fulltime writer and illustrator. He lives in Oregon with his photographer wife of over fifty years. They enjoy traveling and the outdoors. In conversations with his peers, he has discovered a common theme for their nightmares. This became the basis for his short story, “Best Not to Skip Class.”