Real
“War and Peace, wow, I wish I could read… the same as you — just spend lots of time reading.
‘But I can’t.
‘I need to read something about—real, you know, something that can help me — real.”
Her words were strong, but not forceful, quiet, but overwhelming. In her class, she was the dictator, the general, the president. I was merely a guest. She was older but spritely. In fact, in a couple of years she will retire. Her eyes were wide and she looked straight through you. She had a way of encouraging by criticizing.
Deep within me, words appear in my head, “everything is real.”
Real was that boy from Mexico conforming to what they say he should be. Real was the black boy who is struggling in her class. Real was the girl crying because her boyfriend dumped her.
Real, what is real?
I smiled, “I know what you mean,” and continued reading.
