Schneekristalle formten geometrische Muster auf dem Schreibtisch.
Eva hatte sich kaum hingesetzt und das Holz überzog sich mit einer kalten, mathematisch angeordneten Schicht. Von der Oberfläche die Tischebeine entlang bis zum Boden der Kellerräume. Die etwas klamme Umgebung und die niedrigeren Temperaturen in den Räumen beschleunigten den Vorgang.
Das Eis weitete sich aus und erstarrte etwa einen halben Meter um sie herum. Die Beine überschlagend lehnte sie sich zurück und erwartete den Unterricht.
Niemand stellte die Temperaturunterschiede um sie herum noch in Frage. Ein Ausdruck ihrer ‚eisigen Persönlichkeit‘.
Pünktlich zu Beginn des Unterrichts öffnete sich die Tür und ihr Lehrer schritt zum Podium. Anwesenheitsabfrage. Generelles Stifte-Klappern und Blättern machte sich bereit, kurioserweise kein Getuschel zu neuesten Gerüchten – vielleicht zu früh am Morgen.
„Shuang,“ klang ihr Name durch die Reihen.
Und sie gab ein „Hier“ zurück, wie jeder andere vor ihr.
Er stockte, einen Moment, hob eine Augenbraue, und schnippte mit seinem Stab.
Das ständig um sie befindliche Eis verschwand.
Sie blinzelte. Und zuckte mit einer Schulter.
„Keine Magie in diesem Klassenzimmer,“ nickte und kehrte zur Liste der Namen zurück, „Steward“
Eva strich mit ihrer Hand über den Schreibtisch.
Trocken. Kein Eis blieb zurück.
Ihre Finger erwärmten sich.
Sie hoffte die eventuell etwas längere Zeit in diesem Klassenzimmer zu verbringen.
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Angela and I were looking at My tattoo by Doty for our other IB oral commentary poem. One of the ideas about tattoos that I just bring with me is that people either do them spur of the moment, like completely on whim, or they really diligently think about something they want to have on/with them forever. It’s such a conscious choice and decision, and they try to make it so meaningful, and nothing will persuade them. And then Doty in his poem is somewhere in between. He goes wanting the sacred heart, but then enters and changes his mind, and wavers constantly until deciding solidly on something there, something that means something to him, but was more impulsive than his original “well-though out” tattoo plan. we just foind that interesting and funny considering how in the poem all his thoughts are so clearly worried about marking the skin qith something forever. And then now having this symbol on his body, he'll never be naked again.
One part of him will always be covered, and you can't see the natural skin. That's a huge commitment. One I'm unsure he really made decisively to bear a mark that expressed him, or if it was just to get the tattoo.
Looking back, I can say with all my heart, I miss those days- the days of endless fun, and of sweet innocence, and ignorance. I miss the times I’d go to school, and come home with rocks in my pocket, explaining in earnest that they were my pets, and each had their own name. I miss the days of endless youth, and the days were the worst fights to be had were ones over who got to be who in each game we’d play.
Given the choice, would I go back? Yes, yes I think I would. I’d go back, and I’d have the chance to do my life over, and maybe live it a little better, and make better choices, and better mistakes. I’d get to re-experience all the wondrous, and breath-taking experiences life has to offer, and I’d have to go through the pain and heartbreak that must come hand-in-hand with the good. But you know what? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. I’d get the chance to see the world through the eyes of a child, and I’d see it with all the beauty and innocence a child does. Needless to say, my first year of school will remain in my fondest of memories.
