In Limbo

I’m on a rollercoaster. But not one with the corkscrew loops and crazy upside-down shenanigans. It’s one of those Universal Studios, Jurassic Park The Ride-style free-falls.

Uh-oh. Lame metaphor time.

This past semester was a long, winding riverboat ride through empty, overgrown Jurassic Park sets. We roll along and it’s scary, exciting, wet. Sometimes the dinosaurs spit water in our faces.

We finally get to a long, steep tunnel. We look up at it. First semester is over.

Winter break begins. The boat clasps into the grate and climbs, slowly chugging its way to the top. We are together, yet we are all alone in this dark, each back in his or her own little world. For this month-long climb we are apart, our thoughts able to go off wildly from the same ones we all think when in school. The boat climbs higher.

We reach the top. We return to Richmond.

The boat hits an even patch and sloshes forward. The light from the real world slowly makes its way across our faces and stares us down.

For a couple of seconds everything feels suspended. Friday passes. Saturday. Sunday.

Everyone knows what's about to happen. No one knows what's about to happen.

Exciting shivers run up bewildered spines.

In the rear of the raft, a gangly art director leans back, grabs an imaginary oar, and in his deepest voice, shouts out the following:

“Here we go.”


Someone screams.

Monday begins.

dubs. out.