Salt and Pepper

There I was staring at my computer screen with the single word “The” written, taunting me for the last two hours. It was 7:42 P.M. Wednesday. I had to have the paper in the professor’s mailbox by 2 P.M. the next day. At the moment, jumping off a ten story building and surviving seemed more plausible than finishing the paper. The professor was flying to Paris Friday morning but he would be at the school on Thursday to pick up all his paperwork.
My mind was racing trying to think of a way out of this. Could I get another extension? This was the third extension. The second extension was due the last day of class. The only reason I was given a third extension was because I was graduating that semester, pending the passing of the course. The paper was our final. It counted 60% of our grade. If I don’t graduate, I would lose my grad scholarship and a job at the offices of Cohen & Fitzgerald. I would be back to shilling drinks behind the bar to pay for my tuition and living expenses. That would put me behind two years. Not writing the paper was not an option. Only one option existed: finish the paper. It was flashing in front of me like a gigantic caution sign. It was 8:21 P.M.
My eyes opened slowly. I saw the numbers 1043. I leaped out of my seat and checked the clock. It was 10:43 P.M. I fell asleep. I couldn’t believe it. How could I fall asleep at such a dire moment when every minute counted? I took out three cans of red bull and inhaled it. I was awake and full of caffeine. I wrote for three hours straight without a single break, not even for the bathroom. There was more than “the” written on the computer screen. By 7 A.M. the first draft was finished. I still had to check for spelling and grammar errors.
My eyes stung like pinpricks. The letters on the screen were forming into a big blob.
The effects of the red bulls were slowly diminishing. I decided to take a nap. I set the alarm to 9 A.M. It would be plenty of time for me to rewrite and get to school.
It was 9 A. M. Thursday. The screeching sound of the alarm woke me up. I pressed the snooze button and fell back asleep. Fifteen minutes later the alarm goes on again. I pressed snooze again. I knew I had to get up but I was tremendously fatigued and “if I wake up by 9:30, I would be okay,” I thought. I opened my eyes and it was 9:45. I told myself 10 A.M. I would be okay as long as I wake up by 10. I opened my eyes and it was 10:25 A.M. I jumped out of my couch and dashed to my desk.
By one o’clock I had to leave, even though I needed to check one more time, but I had no time to rewrite again. I brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face. I ran to the train station like a person being chased by Jason or Freddy Krueger. Of all days, the 6 train decided to have a delay. The next stop was my destination. I was so close. The train stood still for five minutes. It was the longest five minutes of my life. When the train came back to life I was ecstatic beyond words. It was 1:55 P.M.
I rushed to the film department office. I asked about the professor’s mailbox to the secretary. She said, “Oh, you didn’t see him? He just left and took all his mail with him.”
I stared at her like a deer caught in a headlight. When my senses arrived, I asked her, “When? How long?” She said, “about a minute after you came.”
I ran out of the office and flew down the staircase to the street. I was scanning all over for a 5 foot 7 inch, salt and pepper hair man wearing a beige jacket carrying a black leather shoulder bag. Suddenly, I saw the back of a salt and pepper man with a beige jacket and a black leather shoulder bag descending to the subway station. I screamed his name like Rocky calling for Adrian or Stanley Kowalski calling for Stella.
The only thing I could see was the top of the salt and pepper man’s head. I crossed the street almost causing a massive car accident. I ran down the station with my metro card in hand. I saw the back of the salt and pepper hair bobbing through the crowd. I pushed everybody out of my way and grabbed his arm almost making him fall. He swung around about to punch me. I was mortified. He was not my professor. I apologized profusely and seeing the sheer despair and the tears swelling in my eyes, he let me go without a single reproach.
I came out of the station in absolute bleakness. I looked around me. Everyone and everything was a blur. I thought I saw a salt and pepper hair man get in a cab. I thought I was losing my mind. Everyone looked like him.
I went back to the office hoping the secretary would give me any information on the professor to get in touch with him. It was my last resort. As soon as I get in the office the secretary asked me if I saw him. She said, “He came back, he forgot his keys. He left a few minutes ago.” I stood in front of her frozen in utter disbelief. Then the salt and pepper hair man getting in a cab flashed before my eyes. Was he a figment of my imagination? I still don’t know if he was the professor or just a mirage. What I do know is I never missed a deadline after that.