The Anatomy and Physiology course starts on July 26th. We have text books in hand, if not an actual syllabus. We have met with the Honorable Doc, and he has drawn his private conclusions from the meeting - filed away, no doubt, only to be produced during our Most Heinous Moments Ever. We know (approximately) Where to be, When to be there, and little more. At least for Day One.
During the course of the pre-amble to this adventure, The Driver and I have been told many things, most of which have evaporated in a swirling cloud of vapor when exposed to department chiefs, critical examination, or the light of day. As we approach the zero-hour of immersion in the first chapter of this endeavor, the tales that we have heard have crystallized into wishful thinking, best intentions, and tooth fairies. These misunderstandings fall at our feet, singing like tiny shards of broken pane.
The Driver and I discuss such matters; we share a jaundiced disappointment in the Bureaucracy, and a small disgust at the petty skirmishes that stand between us and our year of scholarship. We look at each other, exchange silent nods, and turn our tired bodies back-to-back.
Our swords may be corroded, long un-used, dragging in their sheathes, but we simultaneously draw them forth. Even so, they flash wickedly in the glare of this mid-July afternoon, his low, mine high. At some unspoken cue, they align, extended and opposite to one another. A biting reckoning awaits.
We are ready. We are in hostile territory. We are EFD.
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