I'M SOMEWHERE ELSE

My art history seminar teacher made it pretty clear that he knows how much I bullshit everything. I guess I don't need to feel bad about this because it's kind of nice that anyone has noticed my existence. When he calls roll he doesn't wait for me to say "here" because he knows who I am. Besides my grades don't matter, I just have to pass to get transfer credit. I still feel sort of chastened or something though.

I can't wait to be home. Things here finally look pretty to me now that I know I will get to see all the trees on Wildwood Road where I live, and go to visit A.T. in her nervous, gangly town. And then Oberlin, finally, again, my small home which will be white when I get there, and when I walk around my hands will stop being able to move. The mailroom. Typewriters. Ugly basements. Blue sky.