Dos son tres

"Papí, I wanna cut through that glass. Cut through that glass and kiss you and hug you. Mamí, why don't you just kick through that glass, kick it in, Mamí, kick it in..." the child continued to prattle, as she spoke to her father on a telephone while looking at him through glass.

"You're not being consistent!" the teacher suddenly exclaimed, in front of thirty-two five year-olds. "Change that sad face to a smiley face on his chart!". "Okay" I answered, staring at the sixteen kids that were waiting for their class to start and had already lost five minutes. "Change it! I don't want to tell you what to do, I know I shouldn't tell you what to do in your class!". I stared back at her in silent agreement. "Trust me! It's how their minds work!" she shrilled, back to her original diatribe. "You're life will be a lot easier!" she added, making it sound almost like a threat. I handed her bullshit chart back to her and herded the next group in that had just watched me get publicly humiliated.

"You think I'll run, not walk to you" I sang in my car, "why would I want to talk to you?". I had been crying again. "I want you crawling back to me, down on your knees, yeah..."

"What is going on? I can tell you're done. I could tell by your face yesterday that you were done" the most regal member of our teaching staff asked me yesterday. "I have never felt like I was doing such a good job and getting so much disrespect all at the same time in my entire teaching career" I answered. And started to cry. "I feel like people are rubbing their hands together and hoping that I will fail. And I don't know why".

I thought of the upcoming contract season, the part where you sign your life away for next year. "You think you can leave the past behind. You must be out of your mind...." I continued singing as I drove down the highway to meet up with the beautiful Keen, my former student that still needs a little assistance now and then. I remember the day years ago when we ran out of the high school where I taught and she attended, minutes after the buses left, in search of housing for her. The same morning, my principal had asked me if I even "liked kids". No, not really. I'll just bend over fucking backwards for them. Keen always makes me feel good. She reminds me that I am doing the right thing, even if no one else knows it.

"This is Hilary, our Spanish teacher!" the parent leader stated to her guest. "We should have more that one Spanish teacher in a school our size, but Hilary does it all. We have had to make decisions about how to spend our budget and we decided to spend it elsewhere". I agree, it was honest. "But I'm sure real soon they'll just go ahead and cancel foreign language in all elementary schools" she added with a smile. Huh? "I don't agree with you" I said, thinking about the "ghetto" district my school had separated from and the one they compete with, which both have Spanish everyday for elementary students. "I think people are starting to understand the value of language learning". She glanced at her guest. "My husband and I both took Spanish for four years in high school. Can't remember a word of it. Come on, I'll show you the rest of the school!". I was curious if maybe she would moon me on the way out.

Alejandro tapped on the glass, pointing, motioning. What? Oh, my T-shirt? What is the T-shirt under my sweatshirt? MEXICO. That's right, Mexico. World Cup. When my life was starting to make sense. I watched him walk away and wondered how he could still be holding up in that deportation jail after all of these months. He's stronger than I am.

I sat at the car wash, finally paying someone to clean all the desert sand and dust from my post-Tijuana/Arizona vehicle. Yeah, I know it's been six months. Don't remind me. "Two torched selves, one lives in Egypt" the rolling commentary on CNN howled. Yeah, no big deal. Folks "torching" themselves. Folks burning themselves alive because they believe in something. No big fucking deal.

"Había una vez, y dos son tres en Puerto Rico" I read aloud to the transfixed first graders, feeling my eyes well up again. Dos son tres everywhere. The numbers don't add up and nothing makes any kind of sense at all.


*Lyrics, The Magentic Fields, You Must Be Out of Your Mind