Young – again, probably in my early twenties – I arrived a classroom. I didn’t see much of it but was eager to be there. It was mostly about the teacher; I thought she had great things to teach me.
Other students were also arriving. We gravitated toward a large white table. It and the chairs around it seemed to be marble or cement. Not deterred, I was amused by that choice.
As I found a place to sit and organized my papers, a teacher arrived. Small, Mrs. Rubenstein from 8th grade social studies come to mind. I sat opposite her, ready to hear what she said but also excited at the opportunity to show her my work.
Smiling, she began talking but her cell phone interrupted. After taking the short call, she hung up. Apologizing, she collected her papers because she needed to leave and attend another matter that just came up.
Very dismayed, I slowly collected my papers and stood, unsure, should I stay or go? Seeing the other students, young like me, were in like ambivalence, I lingered. Then I thought, we can just stay and share our papers, and wait for the teacher to return. My impression was that she wouldn’t be gone long.
I suggested that to the rest. After a brief discussion, they agreed. Sitting, I got my papers out, then realized, there were thirteen students.
Dream end