Freedom's Choice

The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating. He came with cribs tucked in his baggy sweater sleeves. His hair was uncombed and the dark circles under his eyes bespoke of hours up studying, only he hadn't. He spent the night sleepless because the material just didn't stick in his brain.

At 3 a.m. he'd started his cribs, scribbling with a ferocity he'd only shown towards art. Ancient history was Greek to him, and the dry professor had put him to sleep most days during class with his raspy lisp and the odd way he constantly cleared his throat. John had to pass this test or his Dad would withdraw his funds and that would end his budding art career tonight.

John saw his parents in his mind's eye shaking their head on spring break.
"There you go, making up lies again." That is what they told me, he remembered.
"John you're going nowhere fast! Get your head out of the clouds and pick a career!"

John signed up for a death sentence.... a teaching degree, and now his brushes were dry from lack of use. Cobwebs covered his art supplies in the corner of his little dorm.

One last piece of art sat in the corner. Even he was impressed. He was never going to be the artist he hoped to be buried in ancient tomes and reading The Art of Speaking. He couldn't even get up courage to do his speech, a requirement for that class.

The professor set his timer for the exam and sat thumbing through a book, relaxed, with a stack of papers on his desk.

John felt sweat forming on his his brow as he worked his cribs with trembling fingers to his right hand and glanced nervously up at the disinterested professor.

His thoughts traveled to Lisa, her nervous laugh and careless manner, even the thing she did to the breaks on the Honda that ended up costing them $500. She didn't cater to anyone, she just lived as she chose and he was envious of the freedom she possessed. Lisa didn't give a shit about anything. She said money would take care of itself. She was a dreamer, and she worked as a waitress funding her own nursing degree.

The professor looked up at John. John froze, the crib burning his hand. When the professor went back to reading his book, John slowly stood up. They stared at each other for long moments. John picked up his backpack and slid out of his seat. He nodded slightly toward the professor, then walked towards the back of the room, opening the door he glanced back and flashed a smile at the dour professor. Tossing his cribs in the garbage can, John walked into the hall and breathed the new breath of freedom.

This was how it was done.

This ends my weekend freewrite hosted by @mariannewest. Join us here:
https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/weekend-freewrite-january-13-2018-part-3-the-dramatic-twist

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