Frank Thoms, Teacher in the Rye

Then words. My words. I gush. A jumble, trying to make sense. Are you the mother? Yes. You have a beautiful daughter. What’s her name? I don’t quite hear it. She’s thirteen you say. You are from Queretaro? Here in my city on this Saturday?

It’s happening so fast. I gush some more. They are about to leave. Don’t go, stay, stay, I say, speechless, please. They go. I watch them down the hall toward the front, dissolving into the crowd.

I step out into the courtyard, stop, breathe, overcome, can’t move, don’t move. What happened? Taking breaths. What was that? Who is she?

Why this moment? Nothing ever like it in my life.