The
Teacher’s Friday Afternoon Treat
My
mouth watering around a lollipop,
I
gaze up to my teacher’s soft eyes behind glossy glasses.
Her
smooth voice molds itself to give
each
character a slightly different inflection.
I
still become awed when the reader can leave
behind
themselves without making their influence completely lost.
Whenever
stopped, she trances her fingers over the page to regain the place lost.
My
tongue begins examining the chocolate tootsie center of the lollipop.
My
mouth tingles from the sticky residue it begins to leave.
Creeping
closer, I can clearly make out my dim reflection in her glasses.
I
twist and chew the gooey center causing the fibrous stick to have an
inflection.
I
savor every morsel of this Friday afternoon treat she would always give.
Every
word, sentence, and paragraph open to give
me
a doorway into a world in which I can get lost.
As
the plot and character unfold, I feel an inflection
of
my senses overwhelm me so that I forget completely about the lollipop.
I
watch as the king adjusts his glasses
to
see a little mouse scurrying to leave.
In
desperation, I watch as the mouse is forced to leave
and
go to the dungeon with the red thread, which will not give
way,
around his thin neck. He must say goodbye to stained glasses
in
the castle and submerge into the pitch-black maze in which he will surely get
lost.
Having
completed devouring it, I now chew mindlessly on the stem of the lollipop.
My
teacher has created a severe mood with her dramatic inflection.
Being
the end of the chapter, she loses her voice inflection
and
tells us it is time to leave.
I
discard the white stick of the lollipop.
It
gave every bit of flavor it could give.
I
yawn and feel all the energy I lost.
My
teacher, rubbing her eyes, removes her glasses.
I
observe the bright string attached to her glasses.
She,
too, yawns with a sharp inflection.
Looking
outside, I see the tree has lost
most
of its dry brown leaves.
I
smack my lips to give
the
juices in my mouth a stir to taste a hint of lollipop.
It
was much more than a mere lollipop
which
she would give.
She
built in me a passion for the written word which would never leave.
