The desks are empty now. Three thoughtful students dutifully stacked their chairs up on their desks, but otherwise, the room is looking decidedly askew: chairs at cross-angles, desks counter-posed. From where I sit, I can see one pencil abandoned under the long table at the back of the room, and a copy of Lord of the Flies rests against a chair leg. Otherwise, they leave no trace.
They wrote long essays today, working steadily for two+ hours, typing, typing away. These, along with some other assignments, will be my next days’ reading. Not one of the students, as I’ve said before, is an Annie Dillard, but I’ll enjoy the reading anyway. It’s always good to see what they’ve learned.
Tomorrow is our last day, a half day, and nothing like normal. Who doesn’t love these closing hours, despite exams, when you can feel summer happening outside and you know it’s almost Yours?
But I told the children this morning that, were someone to tell me we had another week, another month of school, I wouldn’t be surprised, not so surprised as I feel right now, sitting alone at my desk in this empty room. Maybe the last days of school are like this when you’re a teacher– not nearly so climactic as they were when we were small, or even in high school, counting down the days to freedom.
I will enjoy the freedom. Oh my, yes. Already the plans and visions and possibilities come to me. I have to be careful to lower my expectations, because the new school year will bear down on me soon enough.
But for right now I am here, the piles of papers– these last remnants of my time with these students– rest beneath my elbows. The clock ticks, the keyboard clicks, and otherwise the room is quiet.
