An ode, of sorts
Today was really interesting. I went back to my highschool to share my senior project w/ the minority students' group and while there, I ran into some pretty interesting people. I saw my 9th and 10th grade English teacher, Mr. Lamotte. Mr. Lamotte is a middle aged white man with thinning hair and spectacles. He has a love for birds, nature, photography and all things Poe. Our meeting today was strange. I am 10 yrs older, a woman now-- he, a man on the verge of the twilight years. We chatted about law school, my time in college, but the entire time his eyes danced around and about. I too, did not want to catch his gaze. What he knows and what I know is what very little know, that as a young girl he offered to comfort me. I remember sitting in his office while he closed the door to talk about my new life (I had just transferred to private school) the journals that I had written for class exposing my secret hurts, wants, my needs. I knew even then that what we had, what we shared, w