All too familiar scents greet me as we get led to the classroom where she is to teach, of floor cleaner, of books and paper, of turf outside the window from the sports field, though it is the scent of chalk and perform that drags me back to that classroom long ago, and makes me react now as I did then, making me put my camera in front of me as I had my book back then, so acute I ache now the way I did, making me take a seat in the furthest corner to keep from being called on and exposed, chalk and perform, though her smell today different subtly from the one I remember, sweeter, softer, making me dizzy as I breathe, not quite a magic elixir yet just as potent, caused not by what she does, but what she is, and I force myself to study her and the cat she sketches on the black board (which is not even black) to keep from speculation on anything else, her scent soon dominating even the thick scents of cologne, the rough and read men wear here.
No comments:
Post a Comment