Today I sit at home. Missing, MISSING it like HELL. Missin it like damn, I cant go back. Not like I cant go back cuz it wont be the same. I cant go back becuz there is a legal order against me steppin foot on their grounds. Damn.
I just want one more time. One more chance.
And today a letter came in the mail. The full case file from my old school about why I got expelled.
And there, on a complaint sheet of paper -
In Miss Lisas handwriting -
I want to break into tears, I want to kick her and punch her and pull our her weave.
"She came to me and said she had been shootin up. "Shootin up" not shooting. Only miss lisa woulda wrote shootin'.
She came to me and said she had been shootin up in the bathroom and missed the shot and her arm was in bad shape. She said she was worried and didnt know wat to do. I told her she should get it looked at.
Miss lisa, Why you did that to me?
How you could do that to me?
After all the private conversations about your boyfriends, and the teachers on your ass saying you dont do enough work, you too personal with the students? And me and my girls always defending you, saying you a GREAT teacher, we love you, and you teach just fine?
I thought I could trust you miss lisa. I really did.
The whole time after i got kicked out you acted like you thought it was fucked up, i talked to you a few times on the phone, and you seemed sad it had to happen that way.
You went right to them. you went right to them and you threw me to the fuckin lions. I knew those old administrator bitches minds wasnt that sharp, that they wasnt on no detective shit, that they couldnt piece together everything without something solid.
And you gave them the solid piece that fit in to the rest of the alleged puzzle and made the whole thing real.
Why did you do it?
I want to cry but Im over shedding tears. Just thinking how this coulda been different, how I coulda just took medical leave and handled shit, came back clean and on probationary terms but back, to my girls, to Debbie the Mannequin and her cold blind blue eyes colored black by my marker, arched eyebrows and black lip liner to match me.
Back to spanish rice and massage class, back to everybody knowing my name. Back to the sun in my eyes, that warm october like the second coming of summer.
Kicked out of class sitting in the projects with the sun on my face, nothing out of place, knowing it was only a temporary time before I would be back, back before you know it, back on track, not steppin on the crack this time.
Back to the beginning, if i had paid more attention, been more discreet, not let my addiction tell me it was fine and nobody noticed me in the bathoom ten minutes at a time.
I loved that school. I miss it. Yea I miss it and I wish i could go back. A year gone by, and i am exactly where I started. It hurts me, not my heart, not my mind, but somewhere down, down, down dark where shame lives, where regret lives, the feelings thatll pull you apart if you dont push them down and keep a weight sitting on top of the lid to that hole.
Today I seen the papers. Read the report of my own personal Judas. And my feelings sit on the horizon like a fat black line simmering over the things I should be seeing in front of me. I never trusted nobody, why did i trust her? cuz I felt bad for her? cuz i thought I had the upper hand, and she wouldnt go back on me just like I wouldnt tell the bosses that she spent entire class periods as Oprah sessions, devoted to asking us wat she should do about her now ex boyfriend?
but fuck her and her betrayal, Becuz I want to see it like it was before all that, before the truth hit my future like a mack truck at 90 mph. Its like a funeral for my education, the one shot I had at getting somewhere, killed when the bud was barely beginning to open and bloom. Carelessly stomped on as the shoes walk away, not even realizing wat they done.
So I think about my memories and good times, never thinking they would get tore away from me suddenly and unexpectedly like a scrap of paper out of your hand with your long lost best friends phone number in a tornado. Somethin lost that can never be found.
I tuck it away in my memories, folded and slipped into the cells of my brain, trying not to think about it. I dont want to wear them out, dim them, make them fuzzy and unsure. I want it all clear in my mind like it was yesterday, part of the opposite world, the parallel world, that world of another place and time where things worked out different. The world where every what if is a reality, and it dont follow the rules of real life, the real life that rips and tears and shreds up things that are happy and true, and reduces them to bitter cynicism and cold hearts. The place where it follows the way of your hearts secret desires. That seperate life you create for yourself where all your dreams come tru, and everything that could have been plays out like a perfect movie behind your eyelids while you sleep.
That life exists, miniature and frozen in time, inside a snowglobe inside my mind. real people , places and things, reduced to memories, tiny dolls arranged in the ways that the future could have been. Never moving, always there for me to look at and never forget. I made them mine to hold onto eternally. Trapped under glass as the snow of time quietly slowly falls and burys them.
Here is me in the bathroom after a shot. I will live in that picture in my dreams, years from now I will still wish.
I just want one more time. One more chance.
And today a letter came in the mail. The full case file from my old school about why I got expelled.
And there, on a complaint sheet of paper -
In Miss Lisas handwriting -
I want to break into tears, I want to kick her and punch her and pull our her weave.
"She came to me and said she had been shootin up. "Shootin up" not shooting. Only miss lisa woulda wrote shootin'.
She came to me and said she had been shootin up in the bathroom and missed the shot and her arm was in bad shape. She said she was worried and didnt know wat to do. I told her she should get it looked at.
Miss lisa, Why you did that to me?
How you could do that to me?
After all the private conversations about your boyfriends, and the teachers on your ass saying you dont do enough work, you too personal with the students? And me and my girls always defending you, saying you a GREAT teacher, we love you, and you teach just fine?
I thought I could trust you miss lisa. I really did.
The whole time after i got kicked out you acted like you thought it was fucked up, i talked to you a few times on the phone, and you seemed sad it had to happen that way.
You went right to them. you went right to them and you threw me to the fuckin lions. I knew those old administrator bitches minds wasnt that sharp, that they wasnt on no detective shit, that they couldnt piece together everything without something solid.
And you gave them the solid piece that fit in to the rest of the alleged puzzle and made the whole thing real.
Why did you do it?
I want to cry but Im over shedding tears. Just thinking how this coulda been different, how I coulda just took medical leave and handled shit, came back clean and on probationary terms but back, to my girls, to Debbie the Mannequin and her cold blind blue eyes colored black by my marker, arched eyebrows and black lip liner to match me.
Back to spanish rice and massage class, back to everybody knowing my name. Back to the sun in my eyes, that warm october like the second coming of summer.
Kicked out of class sitting in the projects with the sun on my face, nothing out of place, knowing it was only a temporary time before I would be back, back before you know it, back on track, not steppin on the crack this time.
Back to the beginning, if i had paid more attention, been more discreet, not let my addiction tell me it was fine and nobody noticed me in the bathoom ten minutes at a time.
I loved that school. I miss it. Yea I miss it and I wish i could go back. A year gone by, and i am exactly where I started. It hurts me, not my heart, not my mind, but somewhere down, down, down dark where shame lives, where regret lives, the feelings thatll pull you apart if you dont push them down and keep a weight sitting on top of the lid to that hole.
Today I seen the papers. Read the report of my own personal Judas. And my feelings sit on the horizon like a fat black line simmering over the things I should be seeing in front of me. I never trusted nobody, why did i trust her? cuz I felt bad for her? cuz i thought I had the upper hand, and she wouldnt go back on me just like I wouldnt tell the bosses that she spent entire class periods as Oprah sessions, devoted to asking us wat she should do about her now ex boyfriend?
but fuck her and her betrayal, Becuz I want to see it like it was before all that, before the truth hit my future like a mack truck at 90 mph. Its like a funeral for my education, the one shot I had at getting somewhere, killed when the bud was barely beginning to open and bloom. Carelessly stomped on as the shoes walk away, not even realizing wat they done.
So I think about my memories and good times, never thinking they would get tore away from me suddenly and unexpectedly like a scrap of paper out of your hand with your long lost best friends phone number in a tornado. Somethin lost that can never be found.
I tuck it away in my memories, folded and slipped into the cells of my brain, trying not to think about it. I dont want to wear them out, dim them, make them fuzzy and unsure. I want it all clear in my mind like it was yesterday, part of the opposite world, the parallel world, that world of another place and time where things worked out different. The world where every what if is a reality, and it dont follow the rules of real life, the real life that rips and tears and shreds up things that are happy and true, and reduces them to bitter cynicism and cold hearts. The place where it follows the way of your hearts secret desires. That seperate life you create for yourself where all your dreams come tru, and everything that could have been plays out like a perfect movie behind your eyelids while you sleep.
That life exists, miniature and frozen in time, inside a snowglobe inside my mind. real people , places and things, reduced to memories, tiny dolls arranged in the ways that the future could have been. Never moving, always there for me to look at and never forget. I made them mine to hold onto eternally. Trapped under glass as the snow of time quietly slowly falls and burys them.
Here is me in the bathroom after a shot. I will live in that picture in my dreams, years from now I will still wish.
