Monday

“What is Reality?” the Professor droned on despite the wandering gazes and half glazed eyes. “How do we know what ‘is,’ and what ‘isn’t?’” Rachel propped her head lazily and struggled against sleep. “It’s what we see,” one student called out. The Professor waved the student off dismissively, “But how do you know it’s real? How do you know this moment right now, is real?” Another student chimed in, “Isn’t there a movie about that?” The class broke into laughter and the students exchanged their personal critiques of the film. After a half hour Rachel’s head dropped into her open text book. The sounds of the class dulled to a murmur. “The question posed by the author is, ‘How do we go about proving our reality?’”

Seconds later a classmate shook her, “…wake up, class is over.” Rachel eyes sprang open as she looked around panicky, but no one else seemed to notice she dozed off. “You missed a pretty good lecture.” Rachel shrugged, “I’ll catch the recap next time.”

Her next classes passed at a crawl, each one less interesting than the class before. Rachel daydreamed most of the time, catching scattered bits of endless lectures. Mondays always seemed to trickle like honey. Suddenly, she remembered the jug of milk she left sweating on her kitchen table. The students were rising again and racing to the door. In the dimly lit hallway she joined the herd, pushing past strangers to the nearest exit, reeling at the scent of a dozen different perfumes. When she finally forced her way outside she slowed and took a deep breath, forcing the students behind her to come to an abrupt halt.

Raindrops sprinkled the sidewalk as she strolled, spilling from a cloudless sky. Each chilly bead licked Rachel’s cheeks before evaporating on the hot cement. She sighed, enjoying the gentle breeze that followed. Even the loud screech of tires couldn’t ruin her reverie. The unexpected collision; however, shattered her musing.

Moments clung together, rushed and choppy like a spliced filmstrip. Voices faded in and out, “What’s her name?” a man mumbled. “The license says Rachel,” another man replied. “Hey Rachel, stay with us,” the first voice called to her, or was it the second. She forced her eyelids open, but could only make out blurred outlines. Weightless now, her body throbbing. A siren wailed around her, unbearably loud. The man called out again, “Just hold on Rachel, don’t close your eyes! Rachel don’t close your eyes…” The voice droned on as Rachel’s head dropped.

“The question posed by the author is, ‘How do we go about proving our reality?’” Rachel eyes sprang open as she looked around panicky, but no one else seemed to notice she dozed off. She raised her hand, some unspoken terror looming over her. “How do we prove our reality?” she asked. “Ah!” the professor pointed at her, “Finally! The author believes that while there is a reality, there is no way to prove it. Not yet.”