As a commuter student, my college experience begins even before I enter the classroom. It starts in a parking lot, circling for minutes trying to find a parking spot, either at Matlack Lot or Sykes lot, as many other are doing the same. What seems like a simple task, is something more. It reflects my college experience, patience, and a search for belonging. This poem reflects what I have learned while being a commuter student here at West Chester University.
The Arena
Every morning,
before I head into class,
I step into the arena.
No, it is not your typical arena.
It sure does not look like one.
Rows of metal,
varying in shapes and sizes,
lined in white paint.
Brake lights blinking apologetically,
like nervous heartbeats.
Cars move slowly,
inch by inch.
Predators ready to pounce on the prey
walking to their cars,
hunting twelve feet of pavement
from beginning to end.
A turn signal is a claim,
a language without words:
“I saw it first.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Do not take this spot from me.”
We follow strangers
with backpacks slung over one shoulder,
pretending not to make it obvious
while silently watching
their footsteps move quicker,
their pace increasing.
The sight of reverse lights appears
in the distance.
Engines shift.
Someone wins.
Some are lucky
and find a spot right when they enter.
Some are waiting and eventually
move on and leave,
speeding to another lot,
hoping to secure an empty space.
Some mornings, it’s me,
reversing into the spot
like I deserved it,
arriving much earlier than my class
just to secure a space.
Other mornings,
I arrive on campus early
just to watch another car take the last spot,
what I thought was mine,
As well as thinking someone was leaving
when they just sit in their cars.
The smallest thing becomes the biggest problem in my mind.
The stress of being late.
My email open on my phone in hand,
ready to send that message to my professor.
Because I am not just looking for a parking spot.
I am looking for space.
As a commuter,
I live on campus throughout the day,
between my home, my car, and campus,
arriving and departing
for eight full hours
just to get a spot.
I do not wake up here.
I do not stay past eleven.
My college experience
begins at the arena.
In a car.
In a parking lot.
We circle for spots
the way we search for connections on campus,
waiting for openings,
hoping someone leaves when I arrive.
Unlike commuters, dorm hallways hold memories.
Dining halls hold stories and laughter.
The parking lot holds us,
patient, quiet, engines humming,
blinkers flashing
all in unison.
Every day starts at the arena.
Every day ends at the arena.
Questioning my routine each morning,
forming my schedule around it,
afraid to break from it
and that is just the reality.
I would never see myself anywhere else,
because somehow
it always leads back
to the arena.
