7:53 p.m. - Monday, Oct. 01, 2012
Story #1
There are some stories that we can't unhear. Stories we wish we didn't know. Stories that change us. He sat across the table from me and I handed him a piece of paper. He pulled a pencil from the container and started to attempt to write his name. "So remember in our story, the kids helped their mom go grocery shopping and make dinner? I wonder how you help your family." "I help wash the dishes," he told me. "That's great! Can you draw me a picture of you washing the dishes?" He started to draw his family. And he started to talk. And talk. And talk. And my stomach turned. And my heart raced. "And I didn't like it . . ." he trailed off. I felt sick. "I'm finished!" he exclaimed. "Beautiful. You can go play."
I'm here because I don't know where else to be. Aimless. I've been told recently to slow down. They want me to stop running from place to place, stop spending every night working out, stop working on my lunch break, stop staying in the classroom until 6:00pm. I compromised by agreeing to leave the room for 30 minutes a day for a lunch break. And agreeing to put off a yoga teacher training class I had really wanted to take. And by not working for the after school program. So there. But when I stop to eat . . .when I don't have somewhere to be every night . . .when I'm not so busy that I don't have time to think . . .all I can think of are these stories. My stories, their stories . . .all the stories . . .swirling around in my head . . .killing me. Too serious, I've been told a lot.
That face he made. That fucking face.
I got down on the floor and rocked back into plow pose. Then balanced on my shoulders and attempted a shoulderstand. I had never done this before. I had never even gotten into plow. Always too afraid that I couldn't do it. I felt lighter when I rolled back up. Fun to play around with the body. Felt like a kid. I laughed. And then it came. Finally. It came. And I cried.
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