Eyes first -- eyes in front, so always eyes first -- and they see and know the cinder blocks, the blind cinder blocks. Yet they also know the 27 pairs of eyes seated around the room. Those eyes dance, and all they've seen and know is much and muchly hidden. Ears. What had they heard today? The long soft roar -- soft roar? Yes, soft -- of the air ducts. When all the mouths are closed, that constant abyss opens to his ears. And empty student words. They are full of desire -- for attention, control, refuge -- but often hollow of all else. Mr. Page smiled at these thoughts and especially at his own hollow chest. A man without a chest. Heads down just now. A few red eyes. A throat is cleared. Some Fruit Loops taken from a bag make a horrid noise followed by crunching. Fingers slide across a book's insides. The year Mr. Page's students were born was his first as an undergrad. That fall brought the escape from one life to another -- an unfettering. The glacier-like closing...
Posts
