The first two minutes after school pile onto one another as some of the more glorious moments of existence. To be shatteringly tired and to finally sit and just breathe in the stillness: magic. Quiet doesn’t mean clean, but for these two minutes I allow myself to ignore the forgotten pencils and bits of paper, the unruly stack of grading, and the teetering tower of books.
I close my eyes and lean into my chair. The true luxury of this moment: turning off Teacher Mode. I can put away the eyes in the back of my head and lower the volume of the supersonic ears. I can kick off the heels which generously warn troublemakers of my approach. For this moment, I step away from having it all together and in control. Some days that means a simple sigh. Others bring face in hands or head and arms on desk, tears barely contained.
But no matter the day, the two minutes stay firmly within their boundaries. She comes into my room with stories glittering in her eyes. She starts in with her sass and her honesty; I return with laughter and listening. A moment most glorious indeed.