Checked for continuity, grammar, and spelling: May 3, 2011.

Chapter Fifteen: Monday, Monday

Sarah struggled to unlock her door without dropping either her bag, which dangled heavily from her elbow, or the large package she had received, which was balancing precariously between her side and the wall. She almost dropped the box three times after nearly falling over three times from the weight of the books in her bag. The third time was equally disastrous, however, for in the attempt to keep herself, and all her things, relatively upright, she dropped her keys. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she uttered, "Stella!"

A Freshman walked by and looked at her, curiously. "I'm Tim."

"Yes, I know," she replied as she slowly lowered herself into a kneeling position, all the while wondering if she could pick up her keys and stand up again without dropping anything.

"Then why did you call me 'Stella'?"

Pausing mid-crouch, she looked at the young man and blinked a few times. With a sigh, she asked, "You've never seen A Streetcar Named Desire, have you?"

"Nope."

"Ah."

"Another one of those movie line things you do?"

"Well, movie, play text, yes. I suppose so."

"Oh." He stared at her for a few more seconds, watching as she resumed her descent. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to pick up my keys without dropping anything." What the blazes does it look like I'm doing? Calisthenics?

"Oh," he said again. "Well, catch you later." And with that, he loped down the hallway and up the stairs.

She paused again, this time blinking at the now empty space. "Thanks for offering to help," she muttered. "Boy drives me mad, he does."

Eventually, she reached the floor. After pondering her situation for a moment, she decided to simply put down the box and the bag and pick them up again after she unlocked the door. Well, hopefully be able to pick them up again. They were rather heavy, after all.

When she finally managed to unlock and open the door, she shoved the box inside with her foot and, grabbing the strap, dragged her bag in and flung it at her couch. Unfortunately, she missed by about a foot and it hit the floor with a loud crash. With a fully justified sigh of exasperation, Sarah knelt down and shoved the box closer to the couch. Once it was where she wanted it, she contemplated getting up and sitting on the couch where it was, without a doubt, more comfortable then the hard floor. Deciding it really was not worth the effort, she laid her head on the top of the box and closed her eyes, enjoying the silence of her room.

It had been one of those days. In spending all night chatting with Agnes until they both fell asleep in her front room, she had forgotten to make sure her alarm was set properly. Instead, it began blaring at 10 a.m. This would not have been a problem, as she did not have any classes before noon as a general rule. However, she had a meeting with one of her professors for today, a Monday morning of all times, at 10:15.

Vaulting out of the beanbag and into her bedroom in one giant leap accompanied by a shout that caused Agnes to fall off the couch in fright, she hit her alarm and got ready in two minutes. Grabbing her things, she rushed out the door calling to Agnes over her shoulder to lock up when she left.

Though she somehow made her appointment on time, her professor was five minutes late. He then spent the next ten skimming through her work in a silence infrequently punctuated with a dubious sounding, "Hm..." until she thought she would strangle him by the yellow and orange polka-dotted bow tie he wore ever day. His criticism on the essay consisted of an objection to every source she had cited as reference. She was then told to re-evaluate her methodology and "highly suggested" she reconsider her source material. Never mind that half the sources she had used were all recommended by him in her first tutorial at the beginning of the semester.

She wondered if the whole situation would have rankled nearly as much if the class this essay was for were not, in her estimation at least, a complete waste of time. It was actually a 100 level class, one she had gotten waived at the end of her first year of college. It was not until the end of last semester, when she was finalizing registration for this semester, that she was told she was missing this required course and would not graduate without it. Apparently, the paperwork for waiving requirements had changed two weeks after she had gotten approval and two extra signatures were henceforth needed. She made her complaint in a raving fit of ire and consternation, proclaiming that as she had submitted the paperwork before the change it should not have mattered. It had taken a full twenty minutes of "discussion" before the office workers finally admitted they had "misplaced" her initial paperwork and, as it was not available to be cross referenced to the information in the computer, the waiver was never finalized. The one time she had not made a copy. Gritting her teeth, she then asked why she was not informed of this missing requirement until now and if she could have the waiver paperwork, please. They told her it was too late in the process to get it waived and she would simply have to take the course.

It made no sense to her, to her advisor, or to anyone in the English department that she would have to take the class in her final semester, especially considering she had already taken numerous advanced level classes with this one as a pre-requisite. The office remained obstinate, however, and she was left with no option to enroll in a class she could likely have passed without once attending a lecture. Of course, attendance was mandatory, as were the handful of tutorials giving her guidance in writing an essay. Thus, months later, she was found spending her one free afternoon of the week in the Library looking for source material for the essay she had finished weeks earlier and was now, essentially, going to have to re-write.

In typical form, none of the books she wanted were on their appropriate shelves, assuming they had been shelved at all. According to the system, they were all miraculously checked in, but the efficiency of the Library workers was notorious for making sure nothing was where it was supposed to be at the moment when it was most needed. And, upon asking at the front desk, she was told all the books were on the appropriate shelves in that tone that dared her to contradict it, regardless of the fact she could see at least three of the ones she needed on the shelving cart behind the work-study who looked down at her arrogantly from where he stood in all his six-foot-five librarian glory.

By the time Sarah left the Library, she should have been on her way to dinner. It was not exactly a prospect she could often claim to look forward to, but between the meeting and the Library fiasco she had missed lunch. Though about to close, the Mail Room was on the way to the Dining Hall, so she stopped in to find a large package awaiting her there. At this point, she thought her day just might be looking up and opted for taking it back to the dorm before heading back up to the Caff. Between the books in her bag and whatever was in the box, the journey to her room became an increasing challenge. Huffing and puffing, she passed numerous people who could have offered to help but did not. Though it should not have come as any surprise, it astounded her that the prospect of Marriott overrode common courtesy.

Thus she found herself sitting on the floor in her room with a box as a pillow, quite tired out and not really desiring to go back up the hill no matter how hungry she was. Her stomach gave a slight growl, however, in argument. Sighing once again, she sat up. "Ok, fine. I'll open my package and then go have dinner."

Sarah looked at the box. The sender's address had been covered with postage and her own address had been typed so she was not sure who had sent it. Going to her desk, she took out a pair of scissors and returned to the couch, pulling the box in front of her and cutting the tape open.

Packaging popcorn flew everywhere when she opened the flaps. After blowing at the one that landed in her hair until it fell out, she then scooped more out of the box and onto the floor to reveal whatever was inside. Two boxes of Kraft Easy Mac 'n Cheese, three boxes of a variety of granola bars, a Costco sized tub of peanut butter, a box of instant oatmeal, a box of Stovetop Stuffing, a box of brownie mix, two boxes of cake mix (one chocolate, one yellow), three tubs of chocolate icing (one for each cake and one to eat with a spoon), a bag of chocolate chips, two boxes of instant hot chocolate (a good thing, considering Agnes' stock had been finished off early that morning), a bag of mini marshmallows, a Tupperware container full of chocolate chip cookies, a package of Oreos, a pair of neon pink socks, shoelaces with frogs on them, a letter from her stepmother, and card that looked like a ten-year-old had made it.

One had, in fact. She quickly made herself a bowl of mac and cheese and ate it while she read the card from her little brother. She smiled to herself, wondering if her handwriting had ever been that large and careful.

Dear Sarah,

Mommy said I could write a letter for this package. How are you doing? I am doing good. Daddy and I took Merlin, Jr. for a walk yesterday and I got to hold the leash. But then it rained lots and we had to go home before we got too wet and would have to sit out in the garage.

I miss you very much. When will you come home next? I think you should come soon and then you can make me a special snack and we can go to the attic and pretend we are going on a adventure and then you can tell me stories. I think that would be very nice. Do you think so too?

Love, Toby Williams

P.S. I hope you like the socks. I picked them out myself. They are very pink, but they were the only pink ones at the store. And I thought you would like to have pink socks because you are a girl.

She could not help it, she laughed until her sides hurt. "Oh, Toby. What would I do without you?" she mused aloud. Closing the card again, she then picked up the letter from Alison. Scarfing two granola bars and a handful of marshmallows, she caught up on the news from home. Her stepmother somehow managed to fill three pages front and back with updates on events in the lives of the family and various neighbors without coming across as either boring or a gossip. Sarah was never quite sure how that one worked out.

Once she was finished reading, Sarah stacked the items from her care package and put them all away. Then she picked up the letter and the card. The letter went in a box on her desk with the rest of them. The card, however, deserved a place of honor on her tiny fridge that stood under one of the windows. She tacked it up with a magnet shaped like a kumquat, and then closed her eyes and stretched her neck, rolling her head back and forth. Feeling content and her mood considerably improved, she opened her eyes to gaze out the window at the tree, promptly giving a yelp of surprise at what she saw instead.

An owl was peering at her from where it perched amid the branches. In broad daylight.

There was silence for a good five minutes as Sarah stared at the owl. The owl stared back, equally silent, though it blinked now and again. Finally, Sarah found her voice. "Jareth?"

It blinked back. Sarah took that to mean yes.

"Um... what are you doing on the tree outside my window?" She wondered if her voice was coming across as calmly as she was hoping it would, thus belying the slight panic and confusion she was feeling at the moment.

The owl, Jareth, blinked again.

"Oh. Right. Owl. Can't talk." Her thoughts moved on to wondering why he did not just come in through the window the way he had once before. "Um... do you want to meet me downstairs?"

This time, the response was for him to fly away. "I guess I'll take that to mean yes as well," she muttered. Looking around at the mess of packaging popcorn strewn across her room, and then out the window again, Sarah threw her hands up in the air. "Monday. He had to come on a Monday." She then had a brief moment of panic as she could not find her keys before remembering she had not taken them out of the door. "Right. Let's go, feet," she said aloud, which caused a passing freshman couple to look at her askance, and she made her way down the stairs.