OUT

Chapter 11

Tuesday, September 23rd 2014

Jack hid in the corner of the small classroom in one of those old-style school tables where the desk was attached to the chair. The desk was a weird upside down 'L' shape, with a little piece on the side to rest your elbow on as you wrote. Jack was left handed however, and most classrooms in Newman only had one or two left-handed tables - if even - so if you weren't the first there, you weren't getting one.

It was a miserably dull day outside, so the room was dark. The walls were stone and the ceiling was made up of styrofoam tiles that looked tattered. The grey carpet was almost worn down to the concrete under it. The whiteboard was stained from years of use that no amount of cleaning could fix, so there were faded remnants of other lessons faintly visible that you could just about make out if you tried hard enough. Despite the white board, the room had a dusty smell of chalk about it.

He wondered how long it had been since any of these rooms were renovated. It had to have been decades. Considering how fancy the Science block or the Law school were, the Arts block was the rejected inbred cousin of the campus. UCD were taking enough of his money though, surely they could've funnelled some of that back into basic facilities instead of extortionately priced accommodation for the rich international students that came from abroad.

'Hi everyone, my name is Savannah, and I've written a poem about my experience as a woman.' Said the girl to Jack's right as she stood up. Much to Jack's displeasure, their tutor was going around the room and having them read their pieces aloud one by one. The girl was small and sleight, with short brown hair, a nose piercing, and a black t-shirt with a band name on it that Jack couldn't make out. She was pretty, but in an unusual way - ugly hot as Wham Bar would put it. There was definitely something striking about her though. She held a tattered notepad in her hand, which she quickly flicked through before coming to a stop, clearing her throat, and speaking.

'In the mirror's reflection, I await the morn'.

And I seek the strength to weather this storm.

I've never felt right, it's time to shed old skin.

To transcend old labels, and embrace the me within.

So strip me down, and I'll find self-love.

I'll finally spread these wings, and I'll soar like a dove.'

For a moment nobody spoke. Then their tutor clapped and the class followed suit, 'thank you for that Savannah. Beautiful words.' The girl nodded and took her seat. 'What do we think?' A few hands raised in the air. 'Yes?'

Jack really enjoyed this 'Creative Writing' module. It was actually quite interesting compared to the other shite they had to study. However, he hated how interactive it was. At least in the lecture halls you could blend into the crowd. These tutorial groups were very intimate. Painfully so. There were only ever about ten or twelve of them in the room, so it was impossible to avoid speaking.

'I loved the idea of rebirth. Reinvention almost,' began a girl Jack assumed was friends with the one who had just spoken, because they always sat next to each other. She had short, bright blue hair, and more piercing than Jack could count. 'I'm bi, and I never really embraced that or who I knew I was when I was back home in Clare. I feel like coming to Dublin was that rebirth for me. I shed the old skin - what people expected of me - and actually lived my life for myself. So I really resonated with Savannah's piece.'

The tutor nodded in agreement. She rarely actually passed judgement on their pieces, or shared her own thoughts. She just facilitated conversation among them, which he felt was strange. What exactly was she being paid to do?

'I loved the storytelling aspect of the poem. Considering how short it was, it was really quite moving,' added a lad with a very posh sounding voice from the opposite side of the room. He had copper hair that needed a trim, and glasses that made his eyes look three times as big as they probably were. 'There's a clear trajectory of a struggle for identity and a facade to fit in, then a decision to be brave and authentic, and embrace your true self. I really enjoyed it.'

The conversation continued around the room, and Jack found himself zoning out slightly. Everyone here seemed so intelligent; so academic and artsy. He was used to being one of the smartest in the room, or at least feeling that way. But now, he felt like an imposter. He felt like he didn't belong. All these people very much fit into a certain mould. They were all alike. He felt like the black sheep in the room.

'Next?'

He realised that the teacher was now talking to him. He stood up, 'eh hi, my name's Jack. Ehm, I'm from Galway...so yeah. Here's my poem. It's not finished, it's a bit messy still.'

'That's OK. Just read what you have.'

He held his notepad in his hands, and could feel his arms starting to shake. He wasn't that nervous with public speaking, but something about reading out loud in front of a crowd got to him. He pinned his arms to his sides to hide the trembling.

'It's always darkest before the dawn,

But you never saw the morning.

There were no signs, how could we have known,

You gave none of us a warning.

But that's the cruelty of this life,

And so you're not returning.

You faded out into the night,

And left us all in mourning.

The room applauded monotonously again and Jack returned to his seat. He was sweating. He could feel a droplet of sweat falling from his right pit and trickling the whole way down his side to the top of his jeans.

'Thank you for sharing that, Jack. Any thoughts?'

Jack avoided eye contact as a few hands shot into the air.