Monday, March 5, 2018
Slice #5- Fragile
I watch her drawing. Erasing. Redrawing. Pencil shading.
I should say something, but I do not.
She is quiet. The people around her can read.
That is not always true.
She has been so mad at me for the past week.
On Thursday, I called her mom after she talked through the entire silent reading time.
I don't mean whispered to friends.
I mean talked.
To people across the room.
For twenty minutes.
Despite repeated requests to stop.
Finally, I had had it.
I lost it and raised my voice to her.
Her mom told me I should not have embarrassed her.
The next day, when I tried to talk to her,
she plugged her ears,
told me she didn't want anything to do with me,
then walked away.
Today, I was running down stairs to get something out of my basement office
fifteen minutes after the day had begun.
I opened the door and said good morning. She refused to say hello.
And now she is drawing.
I watch and say nothing.
Until reading time is almost over.
Then I lean over and whisper to her,
"Drawings that beautiful should not be on notebook paper.
I will bring you some plain paper tomorrow."
She looks up, surprised.
That relationship, so fragile.
For now, anyway.