Marx 1

Katelynn Marx

Kimberly Rickard

English 1101

5 February 2021

Through My Own Time

I remember my last day of high school. I remember my graduation and the simplicity of

knowing I could now have that sense of “freedom” we all so desperately wanted to believe came

next. The things we complained about were seemingly irrelevant compared to the obstacle of the

unknown that came next. Those steps that seemed easy enough for others, were steps that were

covered in ice as I wore only the slickest of shoes. I feared change in my life, even when I knew

the change could be for the better.

I grew up around members of my family who believed college was unnecessary as they,

in their own personal experience, achieved what they wanted without it. So through that, I had

the mindset to just simply wait it out. From 2018, I stayed capsuled away in a small

family-owned restaurant until I reached the status of a manager. From then on being told you’re a

hard worker was as much of a compliment to me there as it was being told that in high school.

And from their perspective, that meant working prolonged hours without a break. I was

suffocated into believing I was only the employee number bolded black on the screen, almost to

remind you that’s all you could be. It had gotten to the point where I almost felt a sense of guilt

for needing a bathroom break when I was the only one in charge.
 Marx 2

I had a love-hate relationship with the time that came after the closing shift. The last

employee closes the back door with a loud click, and there I stood on the other side to push that

penny-sized button in to clarify that no one could get in. Then finally, I was alone. The stillness

that comes from a closed store at night is such a deep shift of atmosphere that you don’t exactly

recognize you’re alone until you leave. I did not love that feeling at first. It took me nearly a

month to finally realize an axe murderer was most definitely not around one of the many

accessible dark corners and rooms. The only area that stayed lit past 11 was the office, which is

where I would sit for the remaining hour of my night. That room was nearly the size of a

bathroom with the ugliest desk that looked like it would be better off being used as firewood in

my opinion.

I hated that desk just about as much as I hated that job. I’m sure it hated me too,

considering every time I would get up I’d somehow hit some limb on the corner or legs as if to

mock my stiff legs from being rushed all night. I hated that on a specific night I couldn’t figure

out why the drawers to the registers were forty dollars short. It had to have been my fault in some

way which is what I would always tell myself. I was in charge wasn’t I? Some course of events

throughout the night must have been from me that just went unnoticed until now. Bills

sometimes stick together like glue, Sometimes the computer is just as wrong as a human being

can be when it tells you the remaining amount. Who knows, all I knew is that it was my fault.

After three recounts of all drawers and a whole paper of numbers later, everything started

to blur together. I couldn’t tell if it were the fact that I was left-handed and it was a common

factor in my notes to be a little smeared, or if it was because my eyes were beginning to dampen.

Where was I supposed to be going with this? Counting the drawer again would be useless. My
 Marx 3

mind felt as if a thick coat of dust had covered it, making it hard for any generalized thought to

be processed correctly, let alone more numbers. After being here for two years, you’d think I

would be used to a night full of struggle and finally ending in more stress. Alas, I was not. I

expected more from myself, wanting only to do something I worked harder for instead of getting

calluses on the tips of my fingers from ignored burns and beating myself up when my mind

finally realized I could hear it at the end of the night. It was then my mind decided to shift into a

new perspective to hide away from the current problem at hand.

I imagined myself back at my high school desk, the papers in front of me suddenly

resembling the notes from calculus. I remember the amount of joy I would feel from being able

to run my pencil around the right answer in a circle obviously rushed from excitement. There

were no circles on this paper, only scribbles of anger and every other word crossed out. It was at

that moment I wanted nothing more than to feel that passion in my scribbled notes again. I

yearned to sit at my own desk that didn’t look like it was begging to be broken down to rest. To

have a variety of notes to my future liking spread in front of me. I just wanted to feel like I was

getting somewhere. I just knew the only way was to somehow push through this coat of fear I let

mold itself to me for years.

It took me nearly a month and a half to finally find the college I knew I would fold well

with. Most of those days were spent trying to figure out how to finish everything in time; It

resembled a whole new language to me. A couple days later and I would have been pushed under

the rug and have to wait until my next chance to fully enroll, but I did it. I’d never been more

proud of myself. The pure feeling of bliss relaxed my muscles as I was told my classes and given
 Marx 4

the first day. I was finally experiencing that change I knew I wanted. When I look back, I

realized all I really had to do was change my shoes to get up those slick steps.