Teacher

I arrived at the square expecting a polite coffee with the woman who taught me to read poems at seventeen. What happened next wasn’t in any book.

I came down wearing nothing but a towel, and on the next-to-last step I discovered the room was full of people who had already seen me completely on the screen.

Her mom went out on an errand, her sister left with her friend, and we were left alone. Camila opened her biology book and started asking questions no teacher answers.

The elevator panel died between two floors. She smiled, stepped toward me, and said quietly that she knew exactly what was on my mind.

When I saw her get off the bus with the pink backpack over her shoulder, I understood that she had already made up her mind—and that I was only going to play my part.

I sat down in front of him, took his hands, and started talking. I knew every word tied me more tightly to him, even if it hurt like a badly placed caress.