(Reprint of March 2014 article published in 2e series)
Every day I sit in my seat and try to ignore the fact that the pebbled plastic leaves grooves in my legs which will itch like crazy. Every day I am reminded that my feet are not flat on the floor. Every day I stare at the pencil in my hand and will it to do tricks or loops or flips or floops or anything resembling writing while I doodle away in my mind. Every day I listen to conversations going on around me, everyone just talks talks talks talks, and every day I’m told that I don’t listen. But I heard.
I wish I could hear less of it.
I am so tired of forgetting the question when it is my turn to answer. I wish I could stop licking my lip, tapping my foot, adjusting my sleeve, and I wish you wouldn’t call my name. I am so tired of the ideas and the dreams and the answers and the questions and the stories and the conversations, all of which regale me every second of every day. You say I daydream. But I am right here every second.
I wish I could sleep.
I try to sleep. There are too many possibilities in the dark. All of the things I could not answer in class are suddenly swimming before me. Only thing is, they are swimming with friends, lots of them, the answers are suddenly better than anything anyone else said and I wish I could turn back time and I wish I could squeeze my eyes shut to close out the ideas and the answers and the images but they find their way back in. Poetry writes itself, images present for creation, solutions come easy, action sounds delicious, as does too much food, dinner was too crunchy sticky bland, and all the time
I wish I could stop it.
Then it is morning and it is another every day and another every day and another. But today, on the way to school, the sunrise moves me to tears and I can’t stop. It is not just the color, so brilliant and crisp and beautiful, it is the promise of something grand, something bigger than me, something I can’t explain, something I want to think more about, something I want to hold dear, to never let go. There is something promising I can be Same. Same, it says.
Not different, but Same.
It’s all too much and I forgot my coat. Crisp sunrise turns too cold in line waiting for the bell to ring. A coat is all I want, and to see the colors just one more time. But it is not to be. The sun is up, the bell has rung, and the pebbled plastic seat leaves grooves in my legs which have already started to itch