intro to romanticism (t.b.)

the art of running late

aw, shit. not again.

the sun is beaming from her window, the sleep she had was decent, the stretch she took to wake her up from her slumber was nice, the day is destined to be good.. that was until fawn turned to her right to look at the alarm clock she had on her nightstand and saw that it was 9:10, which means her first class starts in 20 minutes!

this is the second time this week that her trusty clock has failed her.

usually fawn would take a bit of time getting ready for school, but unfortunately, today isn't one of those times.

she went into her closet to grab a decent outfit for the day and once she did, she threw it on her bed and made a swift beeline to one of the bathrooms she shared with her two roommates.

the ruminating thoughts about whether she was a shitty student for constantly being late or just a bad impression to her professors bugged fawn as she was washing up. it's only been a week since she's been at greendale and she feels like she's slipping up already.

although fawn has good grades, a few friends, a flexible class schedule, and is in a community college that has an overall welcoming environment, nothing can shake the feelings of her potentially being seen as a slip-up by professors — and the dean — that she enjoys seeing.. she doesn't want to go through that again.

see, fawn grew up with parents who never supported her music career because they firmly believe that any form of the arts would never pay the bills and even if it did, they still don't feel that music will keep her financially stable for a long time. her mom and dad thought her passion for music was a side hobby that was never meant to be taken seriously. they thought it was a phase she would eventually toss aside for a career that had a salary so high, she might as well continue the generational journey of being a successful, upper-middle class black woman who paved the way for her future family.

ever since she laid hands on her first drum set that her aunt estelle gave her for her 15th birthday, fawn couldn't get enough of it. but as soon as she started shifting her focus on getting better at the drums, which led to her grades dropping in school, fawn's parents became more disapproving of her musical abilities.

they would shake their heads every time they heard her practicing in the garage with her friends. they even got so far as to lock the garage door if they got a call from the school telling them about how she's doing in her classes.

fawn knows that her parents mean well and will always love her, but it's like she sees a different side of them whenever music comes into the picture. she doesn't know if the thing she sees as beautiful was the same thing that must've traumatized her parents in some way, but she would do just about anything to figure out why they don't want her to do what she loves.

getting out of the bathroom and quickly going to her room to change clothes, fawn made her way to the kitchen downstairs. she didn't even see her friend rowan sitting at the table eating breakfast. that's why fawn jumped a little bit when she heard her say, "good morning, sleepyhead. late for school again?"

"ha, ha. very funny, row." fawn sarcastically replied as grabbed an apple from the fridge. "no, really. keep it up."

rowan got up from the table to put her bowl in the sink. "i would keep it up, but, uh don't you got a professor to piss off for thinking you could just show up on your own time?" she laughed at her best friend.

"shut up." fawn said as she playfully pushed rowan and messed up her hair.

ah, rowan sanders. one of fawn's best friends since the first grade who loves to slack off, goof around, and get on her nerves with her constant sarcasm and play fighting. gotta love her, though.