All humans have the right to magic, brujas y brujos. The spells important in the late night fadings of consciousness, trying to go to sleep by taking the position of a sleeping body.

The theme of the class is Trouble. I’ve been in it, I’ve tried to get into it. The waitlist was too long.

In the night, in a one-bedroom apartment in Kissimmee, Florida, I dreaded going to work the next day, I held a knife to my wrist. The knife wasn’t even clean – it was out of the dirty dishwasher. I didn’t do it, but wanted to, woulda.

I was paid to teach seventh grade, paid to get insulted by twelve-year-olds every day. My fellow teachers were the most racist people I’d ever met, a collection of middle-aged whites who called the kids every slur in the book.

I called the kids fuckheads, even that was too far.

I was a bad teacher.

I went to a wing place and drank so much I don’t remember driving home.

The other teachers thought the kids would be nicer to me if I had a fake girlfriend, so the science teacher put a photo of her sister in a heart-shaped frame on my desk. They tried to set me up with the married business teacher.

I’ve come here before, I brought you here before.

The history teacher didn’t like me, she told the students nothing I said mattered. One student, mildly bad, told me Mrs. S_______ told her how to get me fired, and she wouldn’t even have to actually touch me. I don’t think the student would have done it, made up a story about us, but the janitor overheard and reported it. Mrs. S________ talked about how good one boy looked when he came in from gym class with his shirt off.

These were little kids, these adults threw knives in their paths and relished in the cut feet.

I wasn’t a good teacher, I was asked not to return. I was told I didn’t have “withitness.” Probably for the best but I was still sad.

I have nightmares about this job more than twenty years later. My life that year, wasted trying to be a good teacher.

Shoulda put more emphasis on my garage band, The Act of Radio.

Another teacher said I had the kind of hair she’d want to run her hands through, talked about how good she was at blowjobs. Had a room dedicated to Gone with The Wind. A Democrat, called the students repugnant slurs, talked about her guns.

I was scared of all these people, felt like they’d taken some different road to being adults than I did. They all seemed so much more in control of the classroom but were the worst.

The principle cried in front of the whole school on the first anniversary of 9/11.

A kid tried to body check me, a kid said he’d shoot up the school. I’m sure it was a joke, but he got expelled anyway.