Sacrebleu!

Monday.
My first exam.
It's a 40-minute French Grammar test worth 30% of my grade for the Language module.
I shouldn't be worried as French is my strongest subject.
But I am filled with self-doubt.
It's in my nature.
Don't ask me where it came from.
It certainly wasn't inherited in any obvious way.
When I look at my parents and my sister - confident, hard-working, successful people - I think 'what happened to me?'
Maybe it's a predisposition that recessively skipped a generation.
Like the red hair chromosome.

I have managed to work myself up into a veritable frenzy of anxiety.
But I am not alone.
It would appear the mature students have this theme in common.
It is clear from our Café conflabs that we are all too hard on ourselves.
We have set such high expectations of personal achievement.
In our minds we have raised the bar to a level that's almost unattainable.
Just to add a little more pressure.
As if we needed it.

The test is taking place in a lecture theatre, so it's not subject to the same strict security checks as the official end of term exams which loom ominously on the not-so-distant horizon.
We are allowed bring our bags and coats with us.
On the understanding that we will not cheat.

Maisie is in the row in front of me.
I'm glad to say she's reverted to the geeky look.
I find it reassuring.
Her experimental image shoved her too far out of her comfort zone in my opinion.
She's safer in sneakers.
Less probability of a twisted ankle at least.

The test papers are placed on the desks in front of us, face down.
We are under starters orders.
Then we are off!
I skip through the test with relative ease.
Nothing too tricky in there.
Once I've completed it, I go back through it, double and triple checking my responses to the questions.
The self-doubt gene raises its ugly head.
I change some of my answers.
Doubt myself.
Then change them back again.
Thankfully, the clock is my friend and we are told to stop writing before I can do any more damage.

As I place the lid back on my pen, I glance down at Maisie.
She is crocheting!
In an exam!!
I nudge my fellow mature student, Mary, and nod in Maisie's direction.
She gives me a look of wide-eyed disbelief and we both have to suppress our giggles.
I avert my gaze as it is clear we are in danger of setting each other off.
Now is not the time or place to erupt into immature laughter.
We are supposed to be mature, after all.
I throw my eyes forward where the lecturers and tutors - exam invigilators in this situation - are standing surveying the scene.
Then I see Madame O'Reilly.
She has just noticed Maisie's woolly activity.
I observe her lips contort in a manner that matches both mine and Mary's and as she looks away, chewing on her chuckles, she catches my eye.
We exchange a complicit smile and I bow my head in order to contain the molten lava of cackles brewing volcanically inside me.
And tell myself to grow up.


©Alacoque Doyle