I’m in the middle of teaching a multi-genre unit with my students. Here’s my first draft of a flash fiction piece I wrote to add to the multi-genre research paper I’m writing alongside them. The topic is teaching–how I got there and how it has impacted me (and vice-versa). This particular piece connects to a poem that precedes it (maybe I’ll share it next time :P)
My teeth hurt. Cold but warm sweat under my clothes, I don’t notice it until later. Like a fledgling bird, I gasp for air. I don’t know the answer, I don’t know the answer is the monologue like ticker tape across my brain. Parallel moments in time hit me hard: Me in Biology class in high-school, scanning through my head to remember what an action potential is/standing in front of students of my own locked into place after they asked me a question, a flurry of but it doesn’t matter overwriting the old code and students still watching me, silent but hungry. Like wolves, they can rip into you, teeth hidden but yellow-sharp. Letting this teachable moment pass feels like throwing away an unscratched lottery ticket.
“What do answers serve us?” I ask them. I am asking them for an answer not needing answers, and I realize that, but I slowly start to feel the sweat cool as their wolfish mouths begin to chatter, alive and wondering.