One of Them

"So, Mohawks are a thing again?" Two in my class of twenty seems like enough that maybe they are a thing. They were during one of my previous incarnations as a student, way back, in the Time Forgotten, before cell phones and Starbucks and well, the internet. I've been back  many times since I was plopped out on the sidewalk with my B.F.A., blinking in the sunshine before wandering back into the nearest registrar's office where things were cool and dim and familiar. They don't tell you that. They don't tell you "You'll be back." But you will. Drawing, writing, art history, that ill-conceived foray into interior design. You'll be back.

I used to be able to blend. Thanks maybe to good genes, but probably mostly an avoidance of grown-up clothes with zippers and linings and darts, I never stood out as one of Them. You remember Them, those students who were always obviously so much older, who had no qualms about asking question after question after question, keeping the rest of the class from an early Friday night beer, who clearly had screwed up so utterly, so completely in their Real Lives. Why else would they voluntarily be back in a classroom with all of our fresh young faces?

It's hard to blend when you have to take off your reading glasses to see the board and put them back on to see your notes, when that glass of wine you had with dinner is making you wish you'd thrown Pepcid into your bag and you find yourself frowning in a most mom-like fashion at the trend of exposed bra-straps (on purpose! Who goes out like that?).

But I'm back, just for fun. School is fun now. There are cell phones and Starbucks and this thing called the internet (there's free wifi in the classroom, just sitting there! We're not supposed to be online, but one teeny tiny peek at Facebook never hurt anyone right?). I look around at all the lovely, fresh young faces, so full of angst and vampire stories and the great unknown, and I think, "yes, as it should be." I am one of Them. OneofThem