"Wow, you know about music recorded before you were born." My head snapped up, hardly awake up until this point.
     "Well, yeah," Kristen said. Nathaniel added a comment about how he avoids pop culture, turning the class into a mini pop-bashing session. But I was still stunned at the professor's comment. I looked toward the ceiling; I'm not sure why I do that, maybe I'm waiting for Buddy Holly to send me a sign, but maybe I don't need one. Today is February first. Tomorrow, I will write about his conversation with Waylon Jennings before boarding the plane. I plan on staying up Saturday night into Sunday just so I can write about Buddy at 1:03 in the morning, reminiscing about that day forty-three years ago. Twenty-three years before I was born. When I realized I was still sitting in the classroom, the music conversation was long since over. But it still bothered me that the professor assumed we didn't know who Elvis Costello is.
     When we began to review the assignment, which I had neglected to do, I figured I could pick up something to contribute to the discussion. The first essay was about a man working in a landfill, and the professor again digressed.
     "Are there even any landfills around here anymore?" The class stared at him blankly, some giving a response, me thinking of the landfill at home with the mental institution across the street. I onced joked around with Gerard about how he was going to get a room with a nice view of the landfill, reserving the room next to him for me. The professor talks about a landfill that doesn't exist anymore. How can that be? I picture men with shovels digging a giant hole in the ground to push the garbage into, piling dirt on top of it. Gerard would be watching from his window.