August 26th, 2014

I was jealous, actually jealous, of the 8th grade boys at the convocation. They
were quiet and well behaved, and yet their sidelong glances, their swallowed s
nickers, their dancing eyes, how light all of these things. I didn't listen very
well to the speakers, the mayor, the superintendent, and neither did these boys
and I felt like I wanted to say, we are together in this, in our rebellion, in our
mirth. I raised my eyes to one of them and he held my gaze steadily; creature
to creature we stared. I could not look away and when I did his eyes remained
on me. It was then that I understood how we are each, every person, a lock.
He wondered what it must be like to be a teacher and I wondered what it must be
like to be in eighth grade, and we sat there immersing ourselves in wonder at
the other's existence. Tomorrow I will meet people I have not yet promised my
heart to, and yet, I know they will have it fully for the next nine months.
Tomorrow I will enter a room full of locks that is waiting to become a room full
of open safes, and I am honored to hold the keys.