Observation Window

It's five o'clock, and I'm sitting at a sticky table in the student centre, eating greasy pizza and staring moodily out the window. My mind is restless -- absorbed by questions I can't seem to answer. As they clamour for attention, one theme cuts above the noise: 'the emperor has no clothes." Why that?1

Out of my window, I can see the heart of campus, faintly green from spring, awash with the afternoon sunlight. I consider moving outdoors, because I know how heavenly the breeze is, but don't; I see someone I know.2

Vanessa Harnish; percussionist extraordinaire, is walking towards a yellow cavalier parked only meters from the C.A.W door. She is looking glumly at a yellow piece of paper -- an official thing that she has just been handed by a campus police officer. She gets in her car and drives off, and I'm left pondering behind my panes of glass. Vanessa -- tall, Green-eyed, red-headed, and slightly over-weight, most likely the fault of excessive drinking. I don't know her well, but I do know she parties. She is restless.3

As I wonder, I keep staring. Things go in and out of focus. I see a short, blonde, blue-eyed girl whose gait I recognize. Jenna Laine taught my class this morning due to a professor's absence. She is a nervous creature, one not always certain of her own response. I don't know what she plays, but I do know that teachers like her and students call her 'teacher's pet.' Her eyes don't like to meet mine. She is also restless.4

Almost immediately I lose sight of Jenna, I catch sight of Nik. He is short, stocky, and brown. His hair is dark and curly, and he wears a tyrannical beard. He stoops inward to walk, and overall bears a ridiculous resemblance to Pan. He even plays flute. The most striking thing about Nik is his incredible insincerity. He responds to words almost before he hears them, and certainly before he has time to process them; his responses are empty, callous, and still somehow, condescending. I know too well that he has an unbelievable lack of tact. He too is restless.5

Three in a row. I don't know them well -- in many ways don't want to know them well. But because they have been paraded in front of this window I call mine, I am forced to consider them. All are very different from each other, but are strung like kindergarten beads on a common thread -- they are restless. So am I.6

This conclusion makes me ask a more disturbing question: if they are restless and I am restless, are we really different? Why do I feel so much like an outsider in this environment? Why do my questions stay unanswered? So often do I feel like an observer, like one far removed from the situation; not just any observer, but like the infamous child who saw the naked emperor and said so.7