It’s just as likely to hit as the common cold. We see it happen every year, know that it is coming, hope that we can avoid it. Some do, but most can’t escape. Senior year begins, and the first victim falls.
Victim #1 has broken down outside the dining hall. The underclassmen don’t understand. They walk around her. She yells inside, saying it will happen to them some day. They block her out, there are chicken nuggets inside.
She heads home, conjuring outlandish excuses for missing her first class of the semester. The throngs outside the bookstore part. They watch her warily. She doesn’t go inside, knowing there is no place for her in there. A boy sees her walking. He leaves the line.
He is Victim #2.
It spreads like wildfire from there. Within two weeks half the class has fallen. They lay in bed, missing their 8am. Their 9:30s. Many incapable of anything before 2.
The semester continues.
One student believes he has found the cure. Hark! A job offer! He accepts, beginning treatment. Knowing that his future is set will solve his problems. The prescription was well intended but there are side effects. It was a temporary cure. He knows he must go on, but it all seems so trivial now.
He skips his night class.
One semester to go. The sickness seems to have subsided.
The students appear to be doing well. They are involved. They are engaged. The future has scared the senioritis out of their bodies. So much to be done before they graduate.
Internships. Classes. LinkedIn updates. Resumes. Dollar beers downtown.
Dollar beers downtown? They must enjoy this. It will all end so soon.
It is morning. Too much enjoyment was had. Their morning classes can be missed, just this once.
The semester continues. So much of the class has fallen. But they will rally. Yes! They will!
They are graduating. They fought it. Hard as it was, they beat it. Months. No. Years. Other battles will come, yes. But today, they celebrate.
They have won.