My personal rules in the girls’ locker room: no talking, listening, or looking. Change clothes very quickly. At the end, dress under the towel. 

I wear my cut-off full slip, as I have every school day for a month or more. I’ve left it long enough to tuck into a skirt and into my gym shorts. The only shape to my chest comes from my bony ribs, but that’s not what concerns me. I wear the thing so I don’t have to expose myself completely during P.E. as The One Girl Without a Bra. 

I scrape off the half-peeled remnants of a glittery purple manicure, even though it’s my last tangible reminder of my days with my daughter Ellie. Three weeks after dropping her off at college two states away, I’m still fighting tears. Maybe I’ll keep these ugly jagged edges for a little longer, I think as I stare at my hands. With her bedroom cleaned and sterile, the door perpetually open like a mouth that has forgotten to close, I don’t have many other traces of my daughter’s presence in our home. Except for the reality that my phone lights up with her text messages all day long.

“I hate you,” I say with a vitriol that I don’t really feel and never will. My dad’s face is turning red from choking back his chortles. The neon green paper full of words has now fallen to the floor, and I pray that the parakeet hopping along the carpet finds his way to it and tears it to pieces like he has the edges of my books.

I’m sorry I can’t be in the classroom today. I’m grateful you’re here. I teach three 100 minute blocks of 8th Grade English. I’m available any time for a text or phone call at 503-xxx-xxxx. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you are struggling with a student, or need clarification on anything.