the teacher who always bought us pizza beckons with smiling eyes,
in her hands is a green basket pockmarked with little rubber *****.
"stress ball?" she offers. instinctually, i almost turn away
until for some reason my hand finds its way into the basket and
my eyes find the most appealing color.
out rises a hot pink ball with a smiling face from the menagerie of mass-produced toys into my hands. and then tears well up and my throat closes and i look up at her and i say the first thing on my mind which is that i've been applying to college and that the ball means a lot to me.
it means more than she could possibly know. did she realize that i had been overwhelmed since that morning? that the tugging in my chest had led to the past two of my restless nights?
the pink smiling face, which we'd dubbed "happy harold," rests in my backpack. with my keys and lip balm and gum.
teenage girlhood in a pocket.
a sign that reminded me that it would all be okay.