Here I am unpacking, laying it all out...again. That place, that call, the one I tried to shut out, close off, supress.
Strange, now. It feels natural, like home, really.
Young eyes, eager, nervous look to me. I sense the anxious. I know their insecurity.
One struggles with reading. And that one, another disorder, a deficit.
This one has trouble hearing. Voices in the backgroud distract. I notice. The box that helps her to receive these noises, these muffled tones, she wears on her hip.
My eyes meet hers. Small talk, yet profound. She speaks. I listen.
This girl.
This teacher.
Two worlds collide.
Another journey begins.
685. sharpened pencils
686. stacks of new books
687. freshly waxed floors
688. my lunch box
689. desks in rows
690. flowers for teachers
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