TEXT: Of course when you’re a senior in high school* people ask
STUDENT 1: Where are you going to college?
TEXT: At a certain point you get tired of saying,
STUDENT 2: I dunno, maybe here, maybe there, we’ll see if longshot gets back to me.
STUDENT 1: Mmm. What about you, Francis?
TEXT: So, tired of waffling, you make a decision, you tack it down to one solid answer, whether its true or not.
FRANCIS: University of Iowa.
TEXT: And suddenly, within a matter of days, that is your destination. Your real destination.
FRANCIS (thought): Iowa.
TEXT: And you realize you love the word, you love its loops and bows, and you hear it in your head when you try to imagine the future.
HS FRANCIS (thought): Iowa!
TEXT: And then you’re there.
TEXT: And then you’ve lived in that word for four years and people are asking again what your plans after graduation are, and my god what does that even mean, as if you can just dictate what job you’ll have, as if you’re just gonna go back home and work in the family freelance writer-translator-comic-artist-playwright business with your pops, so you repeat the question back at them until you can’t stand it, and you find a word that will work.
NEWMAN: So what are you plans, after graduation?
TEXT: And for some reason when you say it, people believe you. Even though
TEXT: is not actually a plan, is not a job, a career, a master’s program, people are satisfied with it.
TEXT: And the word is something. It’s something you can plant your feet on, something you can say in your head to remind yourself that there is a world after May.
TEXT: And then—
Well I don’t know what happens then.