Art Wortd Coop

On the morning of September 5th, 2001, instead of going to class, a student panicked and ran into the bathroom on the first floor of the International Institute in Madrid, Spain. As the clock struck eight, a monastery silence reigned over the building.

Staring so deep and hard at his reflection drew an excessive amount of strength and soon the student was overwhelmed and needed to sit down. He pressed the stall door, which opened like a confession booth.

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked.

As he waited for an answer, he stared up at the birds walking along the parapet.

“I’m living in a city without a single person who speaks my language . . . I could disappear tomorrow and nobody would know I’m gone.”

The rules of the study abroad program in Spain dictated no English allowed. The student saw this as a harsh and impossible demand. There were several other study abroad programs in the International Institute, none of which had to follow the same absurd rules. Americans chattered endlessly in the halls, unaware of their own freedoms. The sound of their carefree voices was the constant backdrop to his day. He lurked in front of the bathroom before disappearing into it, unable to communicate his frustration.

The walk from the Senora’s apartment to the International Institute took approximately thirty-five minutes. Walking in the city of Madrid was like making one’s way through a giant abyss, the immensity stretched to invisible corners, with crisscrossing roads and similar-looking plazas, and soon the endurance of walking became painful and self-conscious.

Of course, he was thinking of what awaited him at the Institute, what he would have to endure once he was there. The tiniest things transformed into a rash of paranoid fantasies. A little sweat, breaking out on his temples, gave him the sensation of razor blades.