"What Do You Want To Do When You Graduate?"

We were required by the state to take a college placement test, The State Twelfth Grade Exam, whether we were going on to college or not.  Typically, the Department of Sadism and Misery had scheduled the exam in a big hall downtown on a Saturday.  All the county's seniors were required to be there.  

We had, of course, been tested for things periodically through the years, and it was always fun because we got out of our regularly scheduled classes, but going on a Saturday was terrible.  

When the day rolled around, I was sick with the flu--fever, runny nose, aches and pains--everything.  But if I chose to skip taking the test, I would have to reschedule and I thought since my day was ruined anyway, I might as well get it over with.  

When the results came back, I had scored in the upper five percent in the state.  This may have been a surprise to some of my teachers, for when they posted our rankings for graduation, I was in the bottom quartile.  There, posted outside the office, was a long list of the six hundred plus graduating seniors.  It was a pleasure for those on the first page, those with 4.0 averages.  But I had to keep looking and looking, finally finding my name on an anonymous page surrounded by some of the biggest dolts in the school.  At least it is hard to find, I thought.  Who's going to look for it?  

I was surprised one day to be called from class to report to the Counselor's Office.  I was nervous, of course, wondering what I had done.  Perhaps they had found out about the wine I took to Jill.  It could have been anything.  I went to an office I'd never been to before, one that I didn't even know existed.  It was the office of the Senior Counsellor.  I didn't even know we had one.  This was the first time I'd seen a counselor in three years of going to the high school.  

I was told to take a seat in a small, dim waiting area, then was called in to an equally small office where I sat across from a very large woman I'd never seen.  She sat looking through a manilla envelope on her desk.  Presumably, it was my records.  She was all business.  

"What do you plan to do when you graduate?" she asked.  

It was just that quick.  I'd never thought about it before, really.  I just wanted to get through.  

"I want to go to college," I heard myself say, the blood rising in my neck and face.  

She looked as if someone had just popped a paper bag behind her, eyes popping, startled.  I swear it.  She looked back down at the papers on her desk for a bit, and then looked up again. 

"Where do you want to go?"

I only knew of two colleges, the university and the state university.  I chose one.  It was a good choice, I guessed, for it seemed to make her happy.  She sort of sat back and smiled.  

"Have you thought about a junior college?" she asked.  

In truth, I hadn't thought about any of it, but I knew junior colleges were for losers who wanted to be nurses and firemen.  I thought about the names on the senior academic ranking list that surrounded mine, thought about sitting in classes with them while shiny others went away to school, to the university with the football team that I'd seen on T.V.  

"Nope," I said.  

"Well, you might consider it."  

And with that, I was excused.  There it was, my five minutes of career counseling.  The state had provided it.  They had done their job.  

The days rolled on.  My father would be getting out of the hospital soon, but he still could not walk.  My aunt and uncle on the coast said that he could come stay with them until he was on his feet again, and he had said OK.  I would remain alone in the little cracker box house for a bit longer, staying up to watch Johnny Carson, making my own meals, doing my own laundry, and reading in the afternoons.  And now thinking about what would come next.  There were happy, smiling faces at school who had already been accepted to colleges.  And there were the rest of us.  Most of us.  I was now lopped in with those who had gone to school half a day on the work/study program, with those who spent there high school days in shop and farmer's ed.  Misfits, miscreants, and other human oddities.  

It seemed sudden, though I guessed it wasn't.  It had just happened.