Everything Is

My face felt horrible.  I woke up, and it was swollen on one side and when I scratched it, it bled.  I am well into my forties, but don't think I should be fat, wrinkled and experiencing some sort of cystic acne, face eating virus all at the same time.

I walked into the dark hallway and saw a couple of people already waiting.
"Is this where the test is?"  I asked, motioning toward the closed door with a sign on it. At the university that I have attended off and on, for more than twenty-five years.
They made a few monosyllables that indicated yes, barely looking up from their phones.
They looked young, but multicultural.  What a bunch of badasses, I thought.  They'll make amazing ESOL teachers.

They let us inside.  I watched as they wand-ed people, like at the airport.  Made them lift up pant legs, shirt sleeves, actually shirts.  A turban.  And then it was me, pulling my shirt up in front of a big window, raising my arms, pulling my pants' legs up, re-signing my name multiple times before they thought it matched.  I sat in front of that test for nearly four hours, after waiting a half an hour to get in, blowing of my break, just because I was afraid I would invalidate something or do something wrong and blow the whole, nearly three hundred dollar thing.  And the preparation I had done.  Yeah, I waited until a week before I was supposed to take the test to study, but when I did, I did bust some ass.  And, I am supposed to know this stuff anyway.

I stood in the Infinity Room, feeling like my feet weren't below me or that my head was above me.  The more I looked, the more I saw.  We were on a boat, that was floating, through everything.  Through infinity.  When I looked down, I saw the Blue Mosque.  When I looked far, I saw everything.  The heat hit my face.

I saw my sister, and we spoke and laughed.

I saw everything.

*Photo of Yayoi Kasuma's The Souls of Millions of Light Years Away, Infinity Mirrored Room.  

God Bless the Child

The holidays are upon us.  I usually like them, but I have been in high job hunting and making sure I am ready for taking classes in January mode. And, I was taking a test to add a field to my teaching certificate.  One of those long, multiple hour, multiple hundred dollar tests.  It's weird, I've taken them before, the GRE, the PRAXIS Spanish test so that I could teach it, my GACE Curriculum test -  the one that validated my degree and ensured I got an eight thousand dollar a year raise.  This new one though, one that shouldn't be difficult, for some reason was worrying me.

As I drove to the Housing Authority, my phone was exploding.  I thought it was about a different, gossipy thing.  I like gossip.
"Hilary, um, call me.  I don't want to text you this."
"Have you heard?"
"Hilary, call me back."
Finally, "Hilary, he's died.  I didn't want you to read it on Facebook or some weird email."

I put my phone down and started preparing to hand out pizza to the Housing Authority kids.  Every year, they have little parties all during the week before they get out for Christmas break.  I knew he was ill.  When they mentioned his name, I almost expected it.  I thought I had it together.

"I see trees of green, red roses too...." Tyrone sang.  He is one of my students.  They were making them practice for February's Black History celebration.
"I see them bloom for me and you...." he continued, low voiced and off key.
"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..."

And then I cried.  And cried.  And I couldn't stop.

Warrior Pose

"Highs and Lows?"  I asked the students.

"My high was that we got extra recess today, my low, I got sent out of the room for throwing scissors at the teacher." Theo responded.

"What did you gain by throwing scissors at her?"

"What do you mean?"  he asked, genuinely.

"I mean, you like extra recess, did you get that for throwing scissors at her?"  I responded.

"No,  I got sent out."

"Did you like that?  Did you want to get sent out?  Did you get something you wanted, like extra recess?"

"I didn't want to do math.  So, yeah, I didn't have to do it."
He got his reward.

"The Christmas festival is this weekend.  That's my high.  We'll get presents...."
"Wait, when is it?"  Zoey asked.

"NO.  It's only for Muslims, because we don't get presents like you do."
I watched Zoey's face fall and felt completely pissed off that one low income kid would say that to another.

The days are shorter and grayer.  People ask me what I'm doing.  So, what I'm doing.  Still working in the projects.  Subbing when I feel like it.  Taking a bunch of classes in January and testing in to more endorsements on my teaching certificate.  Working shit out.

Being the best me I can be.

I Felt the Lonely Comin' Down

"Ms. Wagner, why is the sky bright yellow?"
I looked outside.  It was bright yellow.  At 5:30 at night.
My boss looked at me.  "Emory cancelled the tornado drills because people would think it was real."
"Aazim, I have no idea, but I don't like the looks of it." I answered.
"You're supposed to be smart.  Why don't you know the answer?"  he asked.
"Can't win them all!" I answered, chasing him through the yellow parking lot.

"Let's get physical!  Physical!"  a strange, blond boy yelled, arching his back and shaking his ass.
"What's your name?"  another yelled.
"Hilary."
"She got destroyed by Trump." a brutish boy announced, his broad face widening in a mean smile.
He turned and screamed in a girl's face.
I had noticed him a month ago.  Two months ago.  Now all his behavior made sense.  But, why his parents chose a school that emphasizes kindness made no sense to me.  I watched each 20K a year kid run around and felt confused.

I drove to the Housing Authority.  I stay the same whether I am in the projects or at a private school.  I speak the same and act the same.  They are all my babies, but my project kids are my loves.

"How old are you?"  one of the private school kids asked.
"Guess, and then I''ll tell you."  I answered, knowing the responses would be funny.
"Twenty-five" he answered.
"Twenty-six" another seconded.
"Fifteen!"  a third yelled.
"I know you're not old," Blair declared, "you don't have wrinkles!"
"I have wrinkles when I smile,"  I answered, pointing at my eyes.
"Those are the good kind."

I sat in the room with the kids that where in trouble at the private school.   I told them what they were supposed to do, then picked up a book off of the bookshelf.
"I WAS ON FIRE."  I read to myself.
"It was my earliest memory."
I watched them and read, feeling content and happy in my world.  I glanced up occasionally, when the problematic boy, the white kid that I had witnessed throw money at a staff member, looked at me.
"I was standing on a chair in front of the stove, wearing a pink dress my grandmother had bought for me.  I felt a blaze of heat on my right side. I turned to see where it was coming from and realized my dress was on fire."

"It sounds like fun out there," I said out loud.
"Everyone is doing their choice activity.  I know you'll get on your game so that you'll be with them next week."
"Yeah..." he responded.
"You guys can go.  Have a great weekend."

"Who'd ya vote for...?"  Tamira asked me.
"I'll tell you if you tell me first who you think I should have voted for...."  I answered.
"Stacey.." she answered, eyes glowing.
"But....some people didn't..." she started to answer, before stopping herself.
"Mean old white people in the sticks, " I answered, "didn't vote for her."

Tamira's eyes glowed brighter and she ran around the table and hugged me.

*Title, Dolly Parton
*Quotes, The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls

I've Said it a Thousand Times

I love it that when the city buses go by, the floorboards shake in my house.  I don't live in an especially large city, but I do live in the largest city in the southeast.

"Wow," the assistant principal breathed, "is she...is she really so... sleek?"
"Yes," I answered, closing my computer so that he couldn't look at my desktop picture.
"My dog is like a seal, a wet seal, her name is Lola."

I quit my job about six weeks ago.  It has been a series of experiences.  Dreams, weird dreams, public perception issues, interviews, everything.  For a while, I had classroom dreams, terrible dreams about things getting out of control.  Margaret, my dead friend, appeared randomly, several times. Most of the time, I didn't dream at all.  People ask how it is going.  People ask how Alec's dad is doing.  I get hostile whenever anyone asks.  There isn't a one word answer.  Last night, things got different.  Weirdly, I ran into the person that ran me out of my job.  I was uncomfortable, we were in a crosswalk, and she had aged twenty years.

I've heard that my old school is talking shit about me.  My rational self said that it was what people do when you leave, they discredit you.  But, it pissed me off.  And, why are things so falling apart when I leave, essentially if I sucked so much ass?

I applied for a type of job I used to apply for years ago, when I had hopes and dreams.  Lola was sleeping when I left the house.  I hugged her and told her how happy she would be on Staten Island.

We set up the foosball table at the Housing Authority.  It didn't matter that one of the legs was missing, we propped it up with milk crates and dictionaries.  I didn't think about anything for an hour and a half, except trying to get my turn.

"Can we see your dog?!"  the kids screamed/asked.
"She's so cute..." they murmured.
"We don't like dogs...." Habiba mentioned.
"They're made of pork."
I started laughing.
"Dogs aren't made of pork!"  I responded.
Then I caught myself.  She is eight and Muslim.
"I don't know why we don't like dogs, but we don't."
"I understand.  I've heard that before and I don't know either."

And then, we did her math homework.

Seashore

"Cabeza, nariz, hombros, rodillas...."  I sang with the three year olds, shaking my knees together in a fake Charleston dance while we sang our song.
"NOSE!"  a little boy growled, pointing at his nose, which was filled with a solid looking green substance.

Alec, Lola and I drove to the beach the next morning, to the panhandle of Florida, where his family was vacationing.  The sand was powdery and the water clear.  Lola ate all of the Whataburgers that I no longer eat on the way home, making the most of our vicarious eating habits.
Most of the area west of there was destroyed about two days after we drove home.

"Hey, thanks for your time, but I've accepted another offer..." I emailed a school, in lieu of sitting through another interview.  It looked like a good school, but I thought the coordinator sounded bitchy.  So, I said fuck it.

"Hilary, his dad has been put on life support.  He really needs to be up here."  I could feel my throat quivering and got off of the phone.  I booked Alec on the same connecting flight his brother was taking through Atlanta.  He flew the morning of his birthday.

"Look, I've turned down offers.  Pay raises, schools that were walking distance from my house."  I said to the guy, taking a drink of my coffee.
"I'm not willing to go just anywhere.  It has to be good."
"How many are we competing against?"

"I'm interviewing a lot.  I can wait until January.  Or next school year.  It just has to be right."

The Air That I Breathe

I was driving for a really long time.  It felt like I was going to enter Alabama at any second.  The topography changed over and over again.  Highway, historic West Side, changing to strange supermarket chains that I had never heard of.  All of the signs turned to Spanish and a series of Mexican and Caribbean restaurants popped up.  The houses were made of cinder block.  My mind filtered through all of the implications of teaching in that area.  If only it wasn't so fucking far away...

After driving in the out way, I accidentally pulled into the bus lane and nearly hit a metal gate trying to make a u-turn. I casually pulled into a parking space at the giant, empty, elementary school.  I rang the bell.  A man made his way through the dark office.
"Hey, come on in, I'm the principal." he announced, friendly enough.
"Where do you live?" he asked, the minute we arrived at a conference room.
"Atlanta..." I said hesitantly, knowing it sounded very far away.
I saw three covered bridges on my drive back to the big city. 

Classical music was playing.  A friendly guy asked me a few questions.
"What drew you to apply?"
"The show.  The exhibit.  It sounds exciting."
"It really is..." he breathed, "it's huge..."
"We'll be in touch!"  he told me brightly, sending me away with my Yayoi Kusama flyers and pins.
The interview lasted ten minutes.  But I felt different.  In the world again, in some way.

I stood on the recess field, watching the goats in the neighboring yard while I monitored the students.  It was my first day ever as a sub.  My first day ever in a private school.  I was stunned to find out that I was subbing for a recess monitor and basically spent the day hanging out outside watching goats.
"Hey, Hilary.  My name's Blake!"  a kindergartner informed me. 

Then, I drove to the projects.  I greeted my group, throwing genuine compliments everywhere.  As we played multiplication bingo, I chuckled and spoke to my group, feeling free of cloistered private school decorum.

"9x5"  I announced while they scrambled to do the math.
"Fingers!  Count on your fingers if you have to!  That is nine added together five times!  I have scratch paper!"
We digressed for a minute, when I explained that a rhetorical question is a question that doesn't require an answer.
"You know, when your teacher says 'Why do I hear talking?' she doesn't really want an answer, she just wants you to be quiet!"  I said, laughing.

For once, they laughed too.  We were bonding.
I left, after having made about half of what I usually make in a day.  But I felt okay, actually more than okay.
Alive.