Immediately, I am shrunk. It is alright, I am big now, there is no need to be afraid. I look down at the sulphurous yellow benches and cannot shake the feeling that I am two feet tall. The walls, covered in pen marks, both accidental and intentional (A luvs D), disappear into the corners. The fan creaks in greeting, still refusing to spontaneously give up and fall on my head. These benches, although the same, look more recent, there are fewer declarations of love (/ownership) than I remember. Rich kids learn to draw up contracts around the age of nine, and they trade in friendships.
There is a giant piece of terrible art covering the expanse of a whole wall. That was the wall I used to sit by, where I would hope and pray that I was two feet tall so no one would notice where I had gone when I vanished into the terrible art. At any rate, it had been more engaging than geography. My teacher walked in. She was surprised to see me. She flashed that practiced smile she gave to parents of exceptionally cruel children. I am big now, there is no need to be afraid. I look down. I am still two feet tall, the fan is still unrelenting.
art by: Kalisha Wayne