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If you can’t live with that, pick up a pink slip at the front of the class and go withdraw. The class is over-booked. Dismissed.” With that, he closed his notes and walked out of the room. We were stunned. When people left the classroom, I saw several pick up pink withdrawal slips.“Well, that was exciting,” I said.“I’m depending on you to get me through it,” Bree said. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Coach Fredericks. He’s your Sports Conditioning instructor.”“Don’t you have a class to get to?”“No. My next class is eleven-thirty. I won’t be able to walk you to your Lit class. Think you can find it?”“That’s one thing Rick and June made sure they did with our cohort. They walked us to each professor’s class that we had on our schedules. I can find it.”Bree introduced me to Coach Fredericks, a guy who was scarcely older than we were. I guess ‘coach’ is a term like professor. You use it for any instructor until you find out different. He wasn’t a coach of a team, but was one of the guys. I had signed the contract. I no longer had choices, and I had to learn to quit wishing and hoping. I would simply endure. This was my fate. To even mentally question this was futile.This monster up my butt was there to teach me about futility, about hopelessness. The iron encircling my ankles and my balls were my new teachers. The collar around my neck was my guru, leading me to acceptance of the fact that I was now the property of another. My attachment to Master’s dungeon was permanent. I was now a part of the dungeon, cemented to its floor. I have no idea how much time passed before Master’s return. The water jug was empty. The cement was long dry. I had watched it turn color, from dark when wet, to a powdery white when dry.The door opened. He paid me no attention initially and went to the center of the room to check the cement, removing the frame which held the chain and pulling with all his weight against the floor. He knew it was dry and that the chain was secure. This show was.
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