Remainder.

Today I found myself painfully out of place.

The auditorium was small, but all the seats around me stayed empty. I had trouble finding the room and was nearly late; for me, the beautiful humanities building is unfamiliar territory. I wore jeans and a black jacket paired with grey Converse sneakers and watched the others cheerfully interact with classmates, family members and faculty in Sunday dress. Except for me, everyone knew each other. Years together in the same English courses had made them a family, albeit a professional one. The announcer began, and everyone half-listened, keeping murmured conversations alive under introductions, awards, and readings.

"Third place and $700 goes to Jessica for her essay, '_______.'"

I walked up and around to center stage, just as the other recipients had done.

"Jessica is a freshman majoring in microbiology and planning a career in medicine."

People looked up from their conversations, falling silent. I was an outsider. I was too young. I was not an English major. I was here alone. I did not belong. I could feel their eyes.

"She works as head of genotyping for a research lab on campus, tutors calculus, and watches the TV show, 'Lost.'"

Stop talking, my mind hissed, searing hot with an unshakable otherness. Please. My hands gripped each other, counteracting the overwhelming judgment that seeped from the tight-knit group.

"Jessica enjoys eating fresh salsa and red velvet cupcakes. She is currently preparing to spend spring and summer terms on study abroad in Jerusalem."

I managed a smile and accepted the envelope. I shot off the stage and melted back into my lonely seat. They were still watching. I felt them.
Who was this, who had interrupted the flow of friends and colleagues? What right does she have to place herself in the middle of our oneness? They were right. I did not belong. I was attempting to operate in a setting outside any I could relate to. I do not look or write like them. We do not speak the same language. I do not know their buildings. I do not know their professors. I am not one of them.

They brought dessert. Everyone sat together and talked. I took a cookie and ran away. Entering the chemistry building, my blood returned and a professor I met in the hall greeted me by name. Here, I belong. Here, my words are valid. Here, they speak my language.
I thought I could inhabit both worlds. Maybe I'm wrong.