Bittersweet

Teaching, as it seems, comes with many more downs than the manual would admit. They worn you about how to deal with bad students, and bad grades, but they never prepared anyone for this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I pulled out a piece of paper that I’ve been doodling on for the last two periods and started to fill in the empty space.

I heard the sound of heels hitting against the floor and the door shut, but I just continued onto finishing my drawing.

Then I heard a voice. It came as a blur to me, though, because I was too invested on working on my drawing. “Good afternoon, class! I’m Ms. Jones and I’ll be your English teacher this year! Any questions?”

I started to finish up the picture that I drew and I stopped drowning out the surrounding voices.

Little by little I started hearing these clear voices, but they all sounded familiar.

The voice that kept repeatedly talking sounded so familiar to me, though I couldn’t put my finger on where it was coming from.

When I heard her say she was twenty-two years old, I looked up and my jaw almost dropped twenty stories.