Friday, January 15, 2010

Today's writing

My first class is 7A, a wiggling bunch of twelve-year-olds none too happy about being packed into school chairs. I can hear them warbling on the other side of the door.

Take a deep breath and go. Let’s do this.

And my feet don’t move.

The paralysis lasts maybe fifteen seconds, nothing too extensive. But any amount of time is significant when you’re talking about being shaken to the core. Just ask any earthquake victim.

What if they won’t listen?

What if they throw things?

What if they make fun of me?

There is wishing and there is wanting, and in this moment those two are in opposition. I wish to be ballsy and brave, to stride in as the English conversation terror master. I want to run as fast as my stumpy legs will take me.

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