It's the same heat as early September that crawls into the classroom in late May. And it's the same fan I pull out to cool the air. The difference is the boy. The boy in September does not touch the fan. In September he appreciates its coolness and sits and watches. He watches the fan oscillate and he watches me because he does not have a read on me yet. If he touches the fan, will I be displeased? Am I strict? Will I make a big deal out of it? Will he get in trouble? I spare him and everyone else the guessing about the fan. Classroom rule: "Don't touch the fan. Just let it be, please. I've had several break over the years because kids have fooled around with them. So don't touch the fan. Okay? Okay." We're all good on that.
Until May. The boy bounds for the fan from recess, claims he is dying. He is sweaty and smells like wet sneakers. He drapes his upper body over the standing fan. The wind billows his T-shirt and whafts his pheromones around the room. The fan's oscillating mechanism clicks and struggles against its motion being stalled by the boy's grip. This is how the last fan broke.
"Off the fan!"
He complies, but not without a last "Waaaaaaaaaaaaa," his mouth stretched in front of the fan's grid which augments and casts his voice around the room to mingle with the pheromones.
Well written. I could see the whole scenario.
ReplyDeleteAirin Wolf