jolt

I remember being...seven or was it nine, maybe thirteen. It was summer and the air was thick like jelly. No one needed a jacket, but I had to bring one anyway. I, the unaccustomed visitor to my own country, had to get used to the radical changes in temperature from outside to in. That day I was wearing a jean jacket and I knew that fact alone separated me from the others on the street. It pointed me out as an American or at least foreign-come.

I remember hoping there would be English-speaking foreigners. Someone who did not know enough to see through my facade. Ones who would only see my face, my skin, and not the me within who could understand their words and gestures. I even joked inside to hope that they would try to insult us, fool us, poke fun. Then I could turn the situation around and have my own bit of fun.

Hm, memories...

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I took one look at the palatte laid before me and swallowed. The metal bit smoothly into the dark sponge, releasing the black blood within. It next cut into the circle of white beside it, overpowering the little resistance under the surface. Together they were a mix of hot and cold, melting together to create the perfect combination. My tongue loved it.

Ah, chocolate souffle and vanilla ice cream...there's nothing better.

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I've never been physical. No matter how much I've wanted to. My fists curl up in my effort to be like those angry people I've read about in books. But I know the move wasn't the result of an overflow of aggressive energy. It doesn't do much for you. It doesn't relieve the tight ball of fire sizzling in your chest, creeping up your throat, clenching your teeth. I didn't need to physically restrain myself by gripping the wooden table-edge with white knuckles, not yet. I only clenched my muscles every time wondering when it was, that one day my teeth would sink into my gums or crack into dust in my mouth or break my jaw. I wonder.

And I wonder when it will be that I lose that control.

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The dark floated on the wind and my steps didn't echo on the pavement. Just the dull thuds of my sneakers. The way was lighted by a glow around the bend in front of me. A few steps and the open breeze swirled my hair--whatever is left of it from the last shearing. I turned and walked parallel to the park across the street.
A soft lilting note reached my ears and I snapped my head to the right. Music? A Chinese flute was playing and a smile spread across my face. I crossed the street and there before me was a man sitting on the edge of a pavilion opening, mouth on the instrument, sounds to the sky.
It was beautiful.

Alas, I left and when I resturned a few mi. later, the man and the music was gone.

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I think I might be a teacher.

C: I hate assumptions.
W: Mm, I know you do.
C: I’ve told you many times, have I?
C: Do you like assumptions?
W: Well, it’s not that I hate them, but I, I try not to make them myself. I get to know someone before I make assumptions about them.

*sigh* Treating me as a child, needing to be general and good A good role model, perhaps. And the ‘mm’ was said in the tone you use with little ones who ‘don’t know what they’re saying’. When you go, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah! Sure, you’re superman.

C: Uh-huh.
C: Everyone makes them eventually.
W: Yeah, in this world, in the real world, everyone makes assumptions.
C: Yeah. That’s life.
C: What do you do if, let’s say, someone made an assumption about you?
W: Well, I don’t let it bother me. See, it doesn’t hurt me. I just don’t let it get to me.

*sigh* Speaking the way you do to little children in the playground. When they come crying to you, their dirty faces streaked with tears and knees scraped where they fell after a bully pushed them off a swing. And you tell them, ‘Remember? Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”

W: It doesn’t matter what they say, because you know what? You don’t know me. So they can say whatever they want and it won’t bother me.
C: Mm-hmm. See, I’d say that out loud.

I’m a city girl, born and bred. If you want to pull something with me, it won’t be pretty. I’ll call you out on it. I don’t work like that, letting them get away with it. Of course, there are exceptions. Usually, I don’t need to(call them out). In the real world, as she puts it, life isn’t that easy. You keep your mouth shut, but there are times when you should open it and let go.

W: Well, I wouldn’t wait until they said something to say something. I would make sure they knew from the start before they say anything like that.
C: Uh-huh.

From the start…

W: Like, you tell them from the start. Subtlety, but you let them know.
C: Really. And how would you let them know?
W: Like, um, I appreciate—I really appreciate the variety-the different kinds of people out there…

That’s kind of ...general.

C: Well, ok. Let’s say, you’re meeting them for the first time. What would you say? Hi, my name is W. I’m from dot dot dot nice to meet you.
W: Well, then-then I would wait for them to say something first before I…
C: Exactly.

See how I did that there? Besides, Lord knows I’ve manipulated Nutangers in the past. *wink* Not only that, I think I do love teaching. That feeling I got when I finally reached the utmost point, that feeling of triumph, of victory and the ‘She’s got it! See!’. And I know I’ve always found and stored things in the back of my mind, never fully explored for lack of people to share them with. Interesting details I could bring to light, bring to their attention, get their mind turning. Questions that could, perhaps, spark debates and discussions. I also learned spelling and pronunciation through books. I know it sounds strange, but it’s true. I learned the ‘rules’ through reading. I would be more than happy to share.

I have gotten off track. Have I? I believe I have. Just a teensy-weensy bit.

But anyways, I’ve always had a little part of me that wanted to be a teacher. I’ve thought about it before. And suddenly it came back to me when I recalled the conversation just now.

Well, it’s getting late. Better post up this entry before I go to sleep. Good-night.

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