The thing that made Lilo a “freak” was her passion. Lilo was passionate about everything she ever did. She was passionate about Elvis, about feeding the ocean fish sandwiches, about making friends, about taming Stitch, and about Hula. Look at her smile. She is the only one who seems to be truly enjoying what she’s doing. It adds life. Passion is life. It’s vitality. It’s amazing. Be a Lilo.
I watched the iconic bulge of his chest repeat in a rhythmic pattern only affected by the breath he took in with his lungs. I was thankful for that stupid organ; an organ that isn’t so rhythmically fit in all. We lay entwined on the floor, pretending that the carpet was actually a comforting place to be.
And a mind raced in between us. Claiming it was mine seemed confining. I blinked away the racing and listened for that bulge. I tried to steady the pace of my thoughts with the rhythm set by supernatural hands. It didn’t work. Even though it sounds beautiful in words, it didn’t work. Too much seems to seep in through the wrinkles around my eyes clawing its way into the brain, arriving to set up house.
A job an identity? Ridiculous. Dooming. difficult. A separation anxiety permeates my limbs and the images that lay behind my eye sockets. Oh the futility of it all. The typical human nature of it! What an embarrassment.
I cried when my students left. First year over.