By Annie Harte
I poked at my worksheet with my pencil as if it would magically tell me what x equaled. Sometimes math made sense. Sometimes the equation would fit inside my head, as satisfying as placing the last puzzle piece. Those were the days when I not only knew the answer, but I understood why it was the right answer. But now math felt like a foreign language - fast-paced and confusing, like if I missed one word there was no hope of understanding the sentence.
“Eleanor, could you close the window?” the sub asked.
On any other occasion, I would tell her that ‘it’s Nora’ but I was desperate for an excuse to leave my jumbled mind. I walked up to the window in the back of the room. The rain was coming down harder than when I got dropped off this morning. I felt like I was in a movie scene when they have the shot of just the foot stepping out of the car and then the rest of the person follows, and they’re always instantly soaked. People were sprinting by with their black umbrellas like they had someplace to be. I guess I had a place to be, in my classroom so I don’t get another tardy on my report card. And my piano lesson on Tuesdays. But I don’t have the same rush these people do. They act like they’re running out of quicksand. I wonder what it will be like when I really have someplace to be. Will I look like them? Running out of quicksand the same way I was just running out of answers? Or will I not have changed? Will I be my movie-screen self stepping out of the car with a stage lingering under the soles of my feet? I wonder. I hope I remember these questions and that someday I will be able to answer them.
I shut the window just after seeing someone on the sidewalk. She was rushing and tripped, but she caught herself, leaning back. She kept running and got to a bus stop at the end of the street. Before she got on the bus I saw a glimpse of her straight blonde hair coming out of her navy rain jacket. I smiled. Maybe that’s who I’ll be. Tripping but catching myself. Not always understanding the math I’m doing but always working hard enough to get an A on my tests. And, if I’m anything like her, I will reach my destination at the end of the day I thought, as I twisted my straight blonde hair in my fingers.
Art opposite page: Matisse Racek
I poked at my worksheet with my pencil as if it would magically tell me what x equaled. Sometimes math made sense. Sometimes the equation would fit inside my head, as satisfying as placing the last puzzle piece. Those were the days when I not only knew the answer, but I understood why it was the right answer. But now math felt like a foreign language - fast-paced and confusing, like if I missed one word there was no hope of understanding the sentence.
“Eleanor, could you close the window?” the sub asked.
On any other occasion, I would tell her that ‘it’s Nora’ but I was desperate for an excuse to leave my jumbled mind. I walked up to the window in the back of the room. The rain was coming down harder than when I got dropped off this morning. I felt like I was in a movie scene when they have the shot of just the foot stepping out of the car and then the rest of the person follows, and they’re always instantly soaked. People were sprinting by with their black umbrellas like they had someplace to be. I guess I had a place to be, in my classroom so I don’t get another tardy on my report card. And my piano lesson on Tuesdays. But I don’t have the same rush these people do. They act like they’re running out of quicksand. I wonder what it will be like when I really have someplace to be. Will I look like them? Running out of quicksand the same way I was just running out of answers? Or will I not have changed? Will I be my movie-screen self stepping out of the car with a stage lingering under the soles of my feet? I wonder. I hope I remember these questions and that someday I will be able to answer them.
I shut the window just after seeing someone on the sidewalk. She was rushing and tripped, but she caught herself, leaning back. She kept running and got to a bus stop at the end of the street. Before she got on the bus I saw a glimpse of her straight blonde hair coming out of her navy rain jacket. I smiled. Maybe that’s who I’ll be. Tripping but catching myself. Not always understanding the math I’m doing but always working hard enough to get an A on my tests. And, if I’m anything like her, I will reach my destination at the end of the day I thought, as I twisted my straight blonde hair in my fingers.
Art opposite page: Matisse Racek
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