How I Left Teaching

When I see myself at the front of that classroom eight years ago, I am wearing my favorite skirt—mid-calf, with overlapping splashes of black and magenta and sea-green.  A long silky blouse, bare legs and sandals.  My hair at the time is thick and glossy, dark brown with red and gold highlights.  I’m smiling.  I throw out questions, elicit the students’ answers, cajole them when they’re reticent.  I am so used to this that I come to class with only a vague idea of where we’re at and where we’re going.