Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Lies my devil told me


I was sitting on a desk in a colleague’s classroom. Thursday afternoon. School was over, and I was probably complaining about something, as this seems to be my greatest feat this year. I complain really well.

I didn’t want to talk to any more students. Five more days and this school year will be over. 

A student waving in the hall caught my attention. She was waving at me. What does she want? Does she want to know how to bring her grade up with one more day of class left? Does she want an extra copy of something she lost? Am I going to have to get up and do something for her? I waved her in, as it was my duty.

“I was going to wait to give this to you tomorrow, but here.” She held out her hand to give me something. I reached out and cupped her gift. A Ferrero Rocher chocolate. I could tell she was really excited to give this to me, so much so, she couldn’t wait another day. She had this chocolate planned for me. Immediately I felt so undeserving of the hazelnut goodness. I had just been dreading her visit, and here, all she wanted to do was give me this gift.

Anger bought this year from me, and I gave it up for cheap. The idea of a location completely changing the person you are, I never thought that’d be me. I thought I knew God well enough—well enough to stay mellow. But as it is, I dread everything. Even gifts. And I aged. It’s noticeable. So many wrinkles, and it’s all my fault. You can go home again, but you can’t return to who you were 10 years ago, and you can’t remain who you’ve been the past six years. And so I end up tired and angry and lost. I end up falling short of many expectations, including my own, and 100 pounds heavier. I feel like everybody wants to tell me, I’m not who they expected. Everybody wants to tell me they thought I’d bring more joy or humor. But all I bring is dread. 

But I can’t stop thinking about Thursday. I can’t stop thinking about how much I dreaded the girl in the hallway. I can’t stop thinking about how I wanted to send her away. And I can’t stop thinking about what happened next.