Chronic Active Adolescence

It was 1980. Michael was sitting in his dormitory room making the final summary sheet for 7 weeks of classroom notes. The notes he had scribbled in haste had been rewritten in a beautiful cursive and then exposed to the scrutiny of yellow and pink fluorescent highlighters. The summary sheet itself was coded in the ink of four different pens. The distilled facts that made it onto his final summary sheet held the key to a final grade of “A.” Michael knew that if he transposed this information onto his brain he would indeed perform heroically on the examination. He had perfected the process in 8 years of grade school, 4 years of high school, 4 years of college, and his first year of medical school.

His roommate, Kevin, snuck up behind him and slapped headphones blaring rock and roll onto Michael's ears. Kevin was wearing a towel and dripping the remnants of his shower on Michael's final summary sheet. Michael quickly saved the work from further defacement and shook the headphones off with a jerk of his head.

“Goin' to the party tonight, Ace? I heard Karin's gonna be there,” Kevin asked, dancing badly beside Michael's desk.

Michael smiled. He liked his identity of “the Ace.” Michael wasn't looking at Kevin. He spoke to a poster of Krebs' cycle that he had hanging over his desk.

“No, I'm not goin'. I've still got some studying to do. I haven't even started on my anatomy summary sheet yet.”

“Jeez, give it a rest, Mike. Everyone is takin' the night off.”

“Maybe some other time. Tell Karin I said ‘hi.’”

“Yeah … right, Mike. ‘Karin, Michael …