A Firefly Disco at the End of the World

On the day after the world ended, I went to work.  When nothing makes sense, the routine of a classroom feels like life going on.   Staying at home was defeat, like giving in, and so I got in my car and let inertia take me to the high school.  I was being held together by twists of my key lanyard, layers of hall passes, and the hopes that they would keep me safe the way I did them. 

At 8:30 a.m., the students began filing in, and I took a deep breath.  When the world ends, among the nothingness there are doors to unlock and attendance to be taken.  When there is nothing left, there are the kids who still count on you to notice whether they are there or whether they are gone.  I wondered if they would notice that I was gone that day too, not really there.  From far-far away, above the desk, disembodied and floating, I willed myself to blink once, twice.  I called out their names like a prayer, something to keep me from disappearing all together.

“Are you OK?” One of them asks as I hand out materials.  “No,” I say, “But being here makes me feel better.”  They give me Mexican candies and quick hugs and don’t ask too many questions.  Just the way I have done for them all year long. 

I let the machine run itself, and the gears turn as I count my breaths.  They set up their light-painting photo-shoots: tripods, F stops and shutter speeds. Focus before the darkness. I turn off the lights and turn on music.  I watch the arcs of glow-in-the dark neon lights and simply exist. We sway and float like flickering fireflies in a breeze.  The windows are taped up, the room feels like a disco in outer space.  It is May, and it is a good day to hide in this dark, safe space where I am wanted and my presence is the gravity that keeps things in orbit.

The bell rings, and the ritual repeats five times over. 

Someone places a rose on my desk, it smells sweet even as it wilts.  Small gifts materialize: a funny sticker, more candy and smiles.  They watch over me, class by class, holding me steady in their gaze, willing me to hold on, to return on Monday and each day that remains.  And at this moment, it is enough.

I know that when I open the door at the end of the school day, the sun will come in, making me squint and making things sharp, once more.

I am always told that I am here to save them, to guide them and teach them things.  Today’s lesson is that some days, I too need saving, guidance, someone to teach me how to go on.  I grasp a wilted rose and some spicy candies as my magic tokens, place a hug in my briefcase for the road.  I wrap my lanyard around my hand and lock the door.  I put one foot in front of the other.