friskin

I've been wanting to start writing here again, but the longer I wait, the more awkward it feels. It's like when I run into an old friend in the grocery store and duck down the dog food aisle to avoid having to say hello. I've done this before.

We went to A Middle School to start our weekly practicum and instead wound up name-taggedly roller skating around and around with about three hundred middle schoolers, with seventies skates and globe lights and family owned arcade token ticket prizes hand holding gliding flailing chirpingness. When one falls seven help her get up. The disembodied voice demands over the loud speaker that they keep moving. My heart pounded and sweat wetted my forehead with the thought that I could be the next to draw so much attention. I don't know if I would have survived, so instead I went nice and slow. I stayed near the wall and didn't try any of their fancy stuff. I loved the curious young minds, and now that I think about it, this is how the man must have seen me. A cleaner slate, a grand unrealized potential. I would not take offense if someone wanted to hold my hand.

When was the last time I wore any kind of skates?
Whose feet do mine smell like?