Already.

Snails, snails, snails.

I tell him no more hoodies in school since he’s still wearing the hood in class. I think about the fact that we’re going to middle school orientation today and that when he gets to middle school he can’t. He just can’t. Because I’m afraid that he’s still a black boy in a school full of white teachers who.

Do the work.

I tell her that I didn’t get the internship. She says he agrees, that I am over-qualified. That it’s probably a good thing it didn’t happen.

Choker. Rainbow colored pens in the apron. She’s a little bit awkward, but nice. She knows the regulars. We are not regulars, yet. But we remember that we really liked the Xinomavro. I substitute spanikopita for the melitzano salata. Add garlic fries.

Little bits of brownies.

Hammock, journal, butterflies, hummingbird. I find the just right spot under the tree.

There’s a group of higih schoolers eating dinner together. They’re saying “please” and “thank you,” ordering maki rolls and pot stickers and having quiet conversation. They are a diverse group, full of smiles, all five of them. I find myself noticing the older kids and thinking of them in different ways. They give me hope for the future. I can raise kids that have quiet conversations over dinner in a restaurant too.

But just go to sleep.