Window

Window.

Window pane.

Window glass.

Window to the outside for my child’s eyes belonging to my little child’s body whose bottom is firmly planted on the hard, metal chair. Forever planted among lectures on the ABC’s of languid language that has been far surpassed by my fresh imagination feeding off The Dark Crystal, The Never Ending Story, the wild pursuits of a mouse in a plane soaring far above the ground, a mouse in the clouds, and a boxcar filled with children and chipped china.

Firmly planted on the hard, metal chair among posters reading, Today is a Good Day to Learn Something New, and I Can Wait My Turn, and Classroom Rules.

Firmly planted among the old and tired equations of 2+2=4, but oh what a world if 2+2= a secret door to a secret world contained in the chalkboard and all that was needed was a piece of chalk to unlock it.

Oh Aslan! Oh Aslan! I hear you roar!

Oh what a world when all that is standing between me and my firmly planted and ever increasingly numb bottom is the teacher clasping the key in her hand.

Rise up young soul! Conquer the beast! A tiny but brave voice shouts from out of the depths between spelling bees and geography where See My Horse Eat Oats is code for Superior, Michigan, Huron, Erie, Ontario hurrah!!

But the hand on the clock is ticking the seconds away, ticking the seconds away to the outside, the sunshine, the air and the birds. To kickball and tag and childish pursuits.

The bell rings, feet shuffle, the window is closing.

Tomorrow then.

Tomorrow.

 

 

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