I miss my students. I took a "leave of absence" from school on Tuesday. I'm on sabbatical. Yes. I'll research something. Picture this. Picture a classroom so large with ceilings so high that there's an echo. They're in the sublevel in the back of an old schoolhouse overlooking a mile of green hills, athletic fields, pig pens and courts. Beyond that, down the hill, there's the Hudson River. There is almost constant activity behind her. She looks over her shoulder- looking for something- let's say- a hundred times a day. The windows are both beautiful and deadly. They're made of heavy wood, thick glass and rusty chains. Miss Matolla's classroom is long and narrow. It's rectangular. She says rectangular to herself. She's so far away from the chalk board that she struggles to make out the words and numbers. When she's called on she slides out of her wooden seat that has rear-end and thigh indentations that don't match her own. Almost always, strands of hair have become tangled in one or both of the screws which hold up the back piece of the chair. She doesn't make a peep when her scalp is pulled on as she drags the chair with her. The blushing used to be a sign of embarrassment, now it appears out of frustration. There are acrobats at the circus on the t.v. who hang from their ponytails. Juliet, assigned through alphabetical order to sit next to her, untangles her hair. They don't seem to like each other but they're bestfriends. She looks over her shoulder, Juliet's face is inches away from hers. She can't see her hands but her scalp feels each movement. Juliet's eyes are small. Her hair is light brown like hers, but Juliet's is so thin that her ears pop out making a second a third part. Her cheeks are always rosey in long vertical streaks. Juliet's cheeks are even cooler after they've been playing basketball in her driveway. "Do you even know what double dribble is?" "Yes," she lies. It looks like she's applied blush badly, kind of but not really like that crazy lady that dolls herself up just walks around. Where does she go? What does she do? Who does she talk to? She saw her walking arm in arm with a woman that she guessed was her daughter and was fascinated by how surprised she was by the fact that this woman had family. She sees beyond Juliet's eyes. It's interesting because she's so focused. Her nostrals flare and she knows that she's taking her time. Juliet's irises-she says "hazel" she laughs and thinks yellow- move and they're locked into each other. But she looks away. She looks down at her bicentennial pencil box. Her baby cousin is taking her first steps and she thinks about how strange it is that she can sit and watch her try to walk for what seems hours. She can feel her heart swell. She looks at Juliet as she finishes by fluffing. She grabs her wrists the same way she holds her handlebars and says, "thanks" after they lock eyes. They are the same height. Three inches taller than the third tallest girl. At that moment she realizes that she wants to go make trouble after school. She realizes that Miss Matolla is watching them.