October 3, 2006 @ 3:26 pm | Filed under: School Stuff

It all started last Thursday. Well, really, on Tuesday. Actually…it began five weeks ago but it took me until last week to realize just how much studying it was going to take to make the grade I want in history.

History, of all things.

I mean, how hard can memorization - a few battles, a few key players, a few important events and laws - be, right?

Uh-huh. That’s what I thought too.

On Tuesday night I pulled out the review sheet for Thursday’s exam. Now keep in mind that this exam is over one entire unit. To break it down, that would be six chapters. Or two-hundred thirty pages. Or everything from pre-Columbian days through the Revolutionary War.

You get the picture.

I attacked the review sheet with fervor, studying well into the night and the entire day on Wednesday. I paused a few times to wonder if maybe - just maybe - I was over reacting. What if I did all that studying and the test was an easy A?

Should I instead be washing a load of clothes, hitting a few golf balls at the driving range, or maybe even do a little…writing?

But the image of Dr. J, my History professor, hung like a banner on the front porch of my mind, refusing to be ignored or taken lightly. I’m mature enough to know when a person means business and her words, her mannerisms, and her body language had been giving the class a lesson apart from the ones in our textbook.

She would be tough.

The morning of the exam I awoke with a whole army of newly hatched butterflies swimming around in my tummy. I choked down a few bites of breakfast, drank too much coffee, and arrived at school early enough to go over my notes one. more. time. This was big.  My poor brain hadn’t been subjected to the rigors of an exam in twenty years and it wasn’t exactly thrilled about this one.

Somehow I made it through Religions class and then walked with leaden footsteps to the history department. By the time I sank into my chair my heart was pounding to the point where I actually experienced a few twinges of pain. Can someone define panic attack, please?

The clock struck ten o’clock and Dr. J breezed into the room with firm instructions to take out our mini-essay books (scantrons & essay form in one), clear our desks, and prepare for the exam. I clutched my No. 2 pencil with sweaty, tense fingers, resisting the urge to tap out some kind of tribal beat with it on my desk. You know, something signifying certain impending doom.

Minutes later, the exams were passed out and I opened it with fear and trembling. Multiple choice and true/false statements made up 60% of the exam and then an essay question made up the remaining 40%. I read the first question and my heart sank like a rock.

I didn’t know the answer.

My mind spun around like a top and the lump in my throat grew enormous. My heart still hammered and I tried some deep breathing, hoping the steady in-and-out of air would somehow clear my muddled brain.

I stared down at the exam and reasoned with myself.

Staci, you know this stuff. You know you do, girl. You studied, what, for a good six or seven hours. You memorized each and every Navigation Act. You can define Anasazi and tell what they are known for. You can name the middle colonies and give a blow-by-blow listing of their religious affiliations, the crops they grew, and the type of government each had.

My breathing slowly returned to normal and I loosened my grip on the pencil. I could do this. Bending my head over the test I took it one. question. at. a. time.

One hour and five minutes later, I walked out of the classroom.

It would be five days before I learned the results…

(to be continued…)