Percival, Chapter One Part One

“Percival, I don’t know if it will help you to waste a whole semester on two courses that you don’t really need. Here take these sheets, fill them out and mail them. I think it’s the best path to take,” he said, handing Percival a manila folder.

“Alright,” Percival lied.

Percival slipped the folder into his backpack under his chair, and rose. He felt relieved that it was over. He was going to take those courses and there wasn’t anything that Mr. Sanford could do to stop him. The man wielded no power at all, except persuasion. Mr. Sanford had a useless job.

The Registration Office opened in an hour, so he headed to the library where he’d spend hours lounging on the sofas reading or taking small naps. Percival meandered through the fiction section and scoured the titles until ‘The Forest of Dreariness’ grabbed his attention. Taking the book, he headed towards his section near a large fireplace with a couple of large cushioned couches sprawled around. Since the fall semester hadn‘t yet begun, the library was empty, and he enjoyed it this way. He kicked back on his deep purple colored couch, throwing his feet on top of the arm, and flipped to the middle of the book. He liked to pick up a book, flip it open to a random page and begin from there, sucking in the heart of the book like the marrow from a bone. When he finished a chapter or two, he’d throw it in the book bin. He went through most of the fiction this way without finishing a single book.

After a chapter of the boring book he made his way to the men’s room. Standing in front of the large mirror above the running water, Percival splashed water over his face. He always had a baby face, with his skin the color of creamed coffee and his hair corn-rolled back. He didn’t look like a dying man.

The only sounds in the bathroom were the crumpling of the paper towel in his hands and the light dripping of the faucet. Percival headed out of the bathroom and down the hall. He had to hurry with his registration so that he wouldn’t be late for work. His eyes wandered to a teenager in tight jeans and tank top. As she sauntered past him and he thought about Clarrisa. Recently, she filled most of his thoughts.

As he approached Mrs. Kennedy, the registrar, he fumbled inside his backpack for his registration sheet and extending it to her, an elderly lady with spectacles and white hair. She squinted up at Percival through her thick glasses.

“Hello Mr. Watkins. Your registering for classes again. Let’s see what you have.” She reached out and swiped the sheet from him. “Your only taking two classes?”

“This is my last semester here.”

She typed. “That’s too bad. We’ll all miss you. Please see us before you go. Hey Murtha, Percival here is leaving us.”

An old lady emerged behind a filing cabinet, “What’s that? Oh Percival, registering early?”
“I said, he’s leaving us,” said Mrs. Kennedy.

“Where is he going? Isn‘t he registering?”

“He is but this is his last semester?”

“Well isn’t that a shame kicking out a good boy like you.”

“There not kicking him out. He’s leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“To work,” he said, taking his receipt from Mrs. Kennedy. They waved as he headed for the door.

Once outside, he unlocked his bike and pedaled toward the bike path. Weaving in and out of several runner’s way, Percival raced the other cyclists until his exit, a worn out path up a steep hill that took him over a curb and onto the street. He turned right down Waterhouse Street that led his job at the hospital.