Bennett’s American Literature class. He is a very ardent teacher and shows it through his hand gestures and facial expressions while he talks about history. If I were watching him now, I would probably laugh because of the fact that he goes through the same rituals every class period; I could set my watch by him. He stands there in silence, waiting to get the classes attention and as always he clears his throat to begin his lecture. Some days I wish I’d never signed up for this class. Since the dreams were coming more often now, I took up more classes and worked overtime so I wouldn’t have to think about it. I should open my eyes now, because I don’t want a repeat of last week when I fell asleep. It’s hard to resist because the scene behind my eyelids is so intriguing. The ocean, so blue, it looks like a color only my mind could make up. A school of fish float around me, in such vivid colors, dancing to a perfect harmony. Mr. Bennett's voice is but a distant sound and the world a complete blur.
