If only you knew

I just started volunteering as a teacher's aid in a public elementary school. I've always had this idea that I love young kids and interact brilliantly with them. In spite of all experiences to the contrary, it's a half-truth that I maintain with fervor. It's difficult not to adore those six-year-olds who are still too innocent to offend, their curious eyes as wide as water basins. To teach them, though, is another story, and it's something I simply don't feel comfortable doing. It's pretty much a given that my lack of self-confidence and rather austere composure make me an unlikely candidate for entertaining kids. I keep telling myself that I'll learn. In the end, though, I seem to be just another cynical girl who will grow up to write a bitter and painfully introspective novel. These people aren't made to mold young minds. 

Still, my job really isn't that complicated. I say 'hello,' I teach the students games, I read aloud, trying to raise my voice above that hesitant murmur that has become my trademark when I am placed in situations that make me uncomfortable. I really do like going to the school, not so much because I feel as if I'm making a big difference, but just because it's heartening to hear a chorus of 'Hannah Montana!' as I walk across the playground and is so enjoyable to play 'Go Fish' and watch the students laugh and chatter amongst themselves in Catalan and Spanish. It's completely wonderful to eat lunch with the teachers, too, though I don't think I've said anything more than "està boníssim" (referring to the meal, of course). It's the simple things that you appreciate. 

Arriving to school today, though, was a total fiasco. My bus stop was closed because of some festival in Plaça d'Espanya, and so in the end, the teacher who supervises me, Josep, had to pick me up on his moto and bring me to school. Josep is one of those really good guys who is perfect with children and is truly concerned with the well-being of others. His sense of humor and sensitivity kill me, and when I'm around him I start to act in the awkward way that is typical of shy, star-struck teenagers who have just been introduced to their idol. 

The weather was beautiful today, and the view on the way to school in Montjuïc is spectacular, especially sitting on the back of a moto. When I think of two people riding a moto in this way, though, what comes to mind are couples or close friends--that is, the type of people who don't mind touching one another. I thus found myself torn between the desires to not hold onto his waist (should my feelings for him be discovered) and to not die. It's one of the more awkward dilemmas I've experienced. 

I guess that I'll remember that ride to school for a long time. There was something so bucolic about it--the sun, the wind, the tiny dots of civilization below the mountain. It was a moment of perfect bliss, and then arriving and stepping off the bike, struggling to unfasten my helmet, I was jolted back into the unfortunate reality of impossible love. It just isn't fair.