His uncertain welcome is my first encounter
and I leave not knowing if I will return.
Her short black hair creates a full edge
around the face that stops me from wondering
where I will get enough money for March,
criticizing me within the first thirty seconds
for unknowingly choosing the wrong word,
forever bringing to mind that first lesson
whenever donation is spoken.
I am standing at the beginning of three years,
still planning to blindly continue with what I have chosen,
to teach without patience or passion
having no other alternative and no confidence to find one.
My future has been mapped out and handed to me
and the only choices I can make must be temporary.
Fortunately I only need to stay for seven months.

Sometimes the basement is too bright, making it easy for them
to notice that I stay in the same place three hours straight,
that I skip over my exact location and sit down quickly.
My perfectionist's hands shake as she watches behind me
through her dark veil even though I have surprisingly excelled,
focusing on the repetition of the words I have been given
instead of the faces around me until it becomes my turn to be
the one who childhood friends will attempt to make smile.
An absolute contrast to her control, there is comfort
in the steadiness of his actions as he stands behind her power.
March passes but the critiques begin to happen too often.
Threes are tossed around assuming that I can handle them,
instead causing me to question myself in one of the few places I hadn't,
but in the end the bright blue of his presence gives me reason to return.

The first week back has not yet ended but I have already changed my life
with the decision that I will no longer try to impress
the woman who stares down at me through oversized glasses.
I find myself willingly continuing to teach where I am not questioned
and enjoy the uncertainty of floating somewhere inbetween
what I have been and what I may become.
October comes through with a wintry dark, frosting the high windows,
blowing out the warm intensity of his light,
but there is a haven I have walked into,
guarded by faithful lions who will soon retreat back into their den
and energetic hyenas who will follow me outside the maze
as we leave the deliberate tangle of connected monotony.

The black power has been lifted and replaced by a tiny red bug
who looks up at me leaning against her entrance as we spend half an hour
chatting about the almost forgotten outside,
who watches my hands shuffle diversions as she asks me questions
I can't answer, having never been asked before.
She has discovered the brilliance of color that
has not yet fully seeped through the cracks,
placing sincere happiness into her loopy giggles.
Sunday afternoon shines with an unusual yellow glow
but time is nonexistent inside these towering basement walls.
Away from the sun there is true, true laughter shared with another
who is helping me understand my life better
while dancing in front of everyone to the music I thought I knew.
I turn to find her imitating my actions before I have released my arrow,
showing me that the answer to his spinning question is in her smile.

The appropriate joke is used less and less because
it has become unclear where that line now lies,
so I watch their disbelieving laughter and scandalized expressions,
wondering what surprised approval would have looked like.
Anger pushes me to reach the twentieth person, and while
I am fully aware that it comes from somewhere outside this room,
I am still unable to feel secure in saying what I should.
Touched by one person, I am now incapable of ever forgetting
a single moment that has happened in three years.
I remain in the middle of the week, knowing that our three days
have passed but without a complete transformation.
I have watched and absorbed every expression and smile,
experienced and loved what was given to me,
silently unnoticed but unconsciously felt.

The funky, funky fiesta is my last encounter
and I leave not knowing if I will return.
I've already lost the scent that follows the first entry
because I have started to pull away.
The third nights will be spent without any of the forty people
who have created my only memories,
leaving me with no opportunity to take it personally.
There will be puffy parties thrown by the aspiring,
stories about car chases and stalkers,
and jokes made about the usual frozen substitutions,
but even lifers who hang on must eventually leave.
I am standing at the beginning of reality
at five minutes after the hour,
replaced by a charming blue-eyed prince.

Alana Munoz

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