#13 'Teach' Envelope (Part III)
I turned on my heel to look over the classroom. Paper faces, some pale and some brown with age, stared back at me. There was even one where someone had used a cigarette to burn holes for eyes. I did not look towards this one; my skin was already crawling with revulsion. As if talking to real children, and not oversized paper dolls, I addressed the class, "I expect you to behave. This is important. Someone has given you an identity through art. I am telling you about yourselves."
My words were a teacher’s words. They were the only protection I had against the waxy green eyes pasted to some faces, and the chalk brown drawn on others. There was even, amazingly enough, a face painted in crisp watercolor reds and purples. They all stared at me, unhindered by the noises that brought unwelcome memories to the surface of my mind. How well I remembered the taste of fear in my mouth, the prickle of nerves down my arms and legs. These were reminders of that night with my husband long ago. These feelings I had hoped to never experience again.