Her foot caught on a rock underfoot, her ankle twisting. She cried outwordlessly in pain as her ankle twisted, sending her to her knees.“Oh shit!”...she heard the voice call out again, followed by the sound ofsomeone quickly making their way down the trail behind her. Looking overher shoulder she spotted a young man, likely a few years younger thanherself. He was tall, but lanky, an unruly mop of brown hair on his head.She tried to stand, but dropped down to her knees again as the pain inher. No, the frustration came from his pants that were thrown about the room,each having failed to make it to his waist. In frustration Kevin grabbeda pair of old sweatpants he us usually reserved for Sunday afternoons.After some sweat and no small amount of stretch and hopefully no tearingKevin got the sweatpants on. There usual baggy comfort was gone. His assand thighs were overtaxing the fabric to it's limits, but they held. Evenworse his legs were longer, so they looked more like capris.. "It's marked number "3", June 2000, I think." Tim answered back to me and pointed to the cabinet on the wall. I raised myself off the floor. As I stood I realized my knees felt weak and it took all my willpower to take the first step toward the cabinet. My mind was in turmoil and each step seemed to last forever. I stopped at the cabinet and took several deep breaths in hope of getting my eyes to focus.My eyes swept over the video tapes until they rested on the one Tim had mentioned. My arm. My other classes were Senior Studio, which was essentially independent study to prepare for my BFA exhibition, and Professional Practices, which was to prepare me for the business side of being an artist. I was glad I had Morgan to help me with that.It was the third week of October when I had my official meeting with my Advisor, Dr. Robinson, and the department chair, Dr. Lowenstein, about how I would structure my BFA Exhibition in the spring. That is where the final blessing would be bestowed.