THINGS DIDN’T GO AS PLANNED

Things Didn’t Go as Planned

Zoe Stanton-Savitz

Monday morning, eight AM, a sinkhole opened up on the South Lawn of the Sarah Lawrence campus. After four months of negligence from admin, it was Sasha’s goal to repair it herself.

Without any disaster protocol for an event this monumental, Sasha had watched as admin tried a variety of creative tactics — placing a giant fishing net over the surface, covering the top with saran wrap, building a set of stairs with rungs of metal pipes ripped out from dorm housing by campus safety, and filling the hole with wet clay stolen from the visual arts department. Things didn’t go as planned. The hole grew. It grew and grew into a monstrous pile of mud, lawn chairs, discarded metal scraps, sparsely scattered litter, and a collection of random objects that had fallen in with its expanding presence. With dismay and conceit, admin settled on placing four orange cones around the perimeter and a lawn sign warning students to avoid falling as the permanent solution to a rapidly widening issue.

Frustrated with the administration’s neglect for the dangerous sinkhole, Sasha sought out her own solution. She was only a freshman and was still learning to navigate the campus,

find a stable group of friends, and manage an increased workload. Nevertheless, she felt responsible for the safety of a group of students whom admin clearly disregarded.

Thursday afternoon, after her final class, Sasha took an Uber to the Yonkers Home Depot where she bought a ten pound bag of cement powder. She lugged it across campus and poured the powder, as well as a bucket of water, into the deepening depression.

Things got even worse. The next morning Sasha checked on her handywork, and found the cement broken in crumbling cracked pieces congregating in the hole with a metal yard shovel lying in the middle. Somebody had sabotaged her work.

Sasha pounced angrily, kicking masses of muddy soil and throwing handfuls of torn grass into the hole. In a moment of impassioned ire, Sasha slipped on a protruding rock, one leg jutting forward. She lost her balance and tumbled into the hole, tasting the putrid soil as her face hit the ground.

Sasha steadily stood, taking stock of the lacerations on her limbs and brushing the dirt off her clothing. Then, she screamed — a loud, disheartening scream with the grating rasp of an overlooked shadow. As she watched the shoes of students and faculty passing by without a trace of sympathy, Sasha let out a heavy breath and thought, I should transfer to Smith.