I held my books in my hand while the buzzing circled, increasing, around me.
The other hand was connected to my head, my fingertips providing the conduit from throbbing head to heavy hand hoping that the pain of one would be alleviated by the other, the barrel of a gun to the head provides another such example.
I was not sure what I was waiting for, but as soon as I saw it a part of me recognized it before the other half could react.
SLAM! My books hit the desk.
By hit, I meant destroyed.
"Do NOT write on the side of the desk with your white-out, if I see that happen one more time you will be in serious trouble."
All were at attention. Faces back, heads held so tightly tense they looked like they could snap at any moment. There was not a sound in the classroom but their eyes spoke volumes - they spoke of fear.
The damage was done before I could even realize it. Even after I tried to smile and joke, the evidence of my disastrous outburst could no more be swept away than the inevitable crater after a meteor.
The intended effect was present, the students worked away quietly and I busied myself at my desk but my head was still reeling which rendered me unable to concentrate on the work in front of me.
Why had I yelled at her? Surely, her minor act of vandalism merited a consequence but not one as harsh and as public as the one she had received.
Was it finally finishing THE BOOK THIEF just a bare 15 minutes before the start of class, a book whose ending threw me into an emotional whirl?
Or the disconsolate contemplation of a formerly deep-rooted friendship that had finally been unearthed before my eyes as the parasitic, one-sided affair it really was?
As trivial as the former might seem, it was, perhaps, a combination.
Either way, the patience and understanding I believed I had gleaned from the past year rapidly dissolved before my eyes.
At the end of class, I searched for her to tell her I was sorry, to tell her she hadn't deserved such a public humiliation, that I was reacting against things for which she had no part in.
But she was gone. I fear the damage will be set as it will not be until another week has passed before my gaze will reach her in my classroom again.
I swallowed my shame, my irritation, my worthless apologies and walked out.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Sweetheart, everybody makes mistakes sometimes. You are really one of the greatest, loveliest and sincerest persons I ever met.
Miss you so much!
Thanks for your sweet words, miss you too my dear Nina. :)
God, I could spend all day reading your musings! You write so beautifully, even about the smallest of incidents. Not that this particular incident was small... to the girl you yelled at, I'm sure it was very humiliating. But you can easily rectify the situation by apologizing the next time you see her and showing her the REAL Star that we all know and love! The one that had your former students in tears on the last day of school when you belted out the lyrics to Mariah Carey's "Believe" at the top of your lungs. That was very inspiring, btw.
Post a Comment