January 24, 2014

#1578 desks and daydreams

somewhere, in a town that still has the same name, but has changed itself almost beyond recognition
is a large building, an elementary school, that has been knocked down long enough that trees grow there
and in that building that once was is a classroom that saw many students, especially eight-year olds
and in that classroom is a wooden desk that lets you smell its varathane, let's you see its scratches and nicks
and in that desk is a boy who daydreams about what he would say to the world if they would only listen
a message about kindness and hugs and mosquitos
he dreams about the grade 5 boys down the hall, noticing him, letting him join their schoolyard soccer
he dreams about staying in this place where everyone leaves this town as soon as they leave a stage in a funny hat, making the town a place where people come, not leave
he does well on his Friday spelling tests
okay on his math sheets
he loves recess
he doesn't have any close friends, or any distant enemies
he likes the monkey bars and the erect half-buried tires
he likes arriving in the morning, and leaving as the long hand leaves the 3
he doesn't like the hallway crowds, or the occasional boys fighting
he doesn't like when the teacher gets mad at anyone
he likes standing at the teacher's desk
the way four years ago he liked seeing the top of his parents' fridge

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