Mrs. Brugel, Third Grader

When Mrs. Brugel was in third grade
Her favorite subject
Was geography

She loved looking at maps
And globes
And pictures of places
And people dancing at those places
And women in long dresses
Covering their faces

Because when Mrs. Brugel was in third grade
She did not like her face

She thought it was too long
And too pale
And she wanted to look exotic
And dark
Like an Arabian woman
Like in the photos she cut out of the encyclopedia
When she did her project on Ali Baba

When she was alone in her room
She'd wrap herself up in a blanket
Take off her shoes
Point a stationary fan at herself
Spread a newly laundered sheet
Out onto the floor
And dance on it
Feeling the coolness on her feet
And in her hair
As the fan whipped the blanket around her

Downstairs her parents would cut up their pork chops
And her older sister would practice piano
And nobody would wonder
Why Tina wasn't coming down to dinner

But they would hear the footsteps
Circling and circling
Above their heads

'Jesus,' her father would say, 'I hope she doesn't think she's going to become a dancer.'

. . . . .

When Mrs. Brugel was in third grade
Her best friend
Was named Anthony

They were boyfriend and girlfriend
And then they broke up
And got back together
And broke up again
And then Anthony moved to Toronto
So his Dad could sell restaurant supplies

The day he left
Mrs. Brugel sat on the bus
Watching houses go by
That Anthony would not be living in
And she put her scarf in her mouth
And sucked on it
To taste the wool
And not the tears
Going down her face

Mrs. Brugel would look at maps
And try to find Toronto
But even after her teacher would point it out to her
She'd never be able to find it again

And it was like she lost Anthony
Every time she did

. . . . .

When Mrs. Brugel walked into her classroom
For the first time
She didn't feel like a third grade teacher
She felt like a third grader

In her hands was a box
Filled with posters
Filled with inspirational sayings
Filled with godawful puns
And pictures of parachutes
And caterpillars

When she told her parents
She was going to become a teacher
They continued cutting up their pork chops
And in the living room
She could hear her sister
Instruct her nephew
To play the old piano very delicately

"What," said her father, "--is the point of teaching kids who won't even remember you taught them?"

Mrs. Brugel smiled
And said--

"It's okay, Dad"

She looked down at her pork chop
And wondered if her fan and blanket
Were still up in the attic

"I don't have to be remembered."

. . . . .

When Anthony left the third grade
Mrs. Brugel ate lunch alone

When Mr. Brugel took her first lunch break
She ate with Gabriel the Janitor

She had been so nervous
When she left the house that morning
That she had forgotten the intricate lunch
She'd packed for herself

When Gabriel walked by her classroom at lunchtime
And saw her sitting at her desk
Rearranging paper clips
Not eating anything
But the dropped silence

Gabriel walked in
And put his lunch down on the table

He looked at her
And said/questioned/assumed--

'Share'

. . . . .

They ate lunch every day together
Until Gabriel left the school

Over the course of five years
They shared stories
Photos of families
And they talked about
When they were kids

When they were little people
With little fortunes
Tucked inside them
Like Chinese cookies

One day Gabriel told her
How when he was growing up
He dreamed of finding a magic lamp
Like Aladdin's
So he could get three wishes

Mrs. Brugel's ears perked up
At the story
And she asked him
What his three wishes would be

'I wanted to live in a palace like a prince. I wanted to have a long dining room table with food on it all the time.'

There was a pause
Gabriel took a pretzel
From his bag

Mrs. Brugel looked at him
Waiting for the third wish

'I wanted children of my own,' he said, 'I wanted to be a father.'

She never asked him
Why he didn't have children

And when he left
She still didn't know

. . . . .

When Mrs. Brugel was in third grade
She didn't know how to talk
To the people in her class
Except for Anthony

And when she taught third grade
That first year
She didn't know how to talk to her students

But she did know how to talk to Gabriel

And sometimes she would look across her desk at lunch
Watching Gabriel eat half a ham sandwich
While she nibbled on the other half
And she'd feel like she was looking back at time
At Anthony and at herself

Most of the good things in her life
Were memories

And so happiness
Was nostalgia

And when she sat down in front of the kids
To tell them that Gabriel had left

She felt like she was one of them again
And it scared her

How could she explain loss to them?
How could she explain losing someone?
How could she explain anything?

She began to talk
And then
Above the heads of the children
She saw that she had left the map of the world down
Still hanging from their geography lesson
Which Mrs. Brugel always made last a little bit longer
Than the other lessons

Instantly, it hit her

She got up
Walked over to the map
And cleared her throat
So she could speak clearly

She told her students
That on this map
Was anyone they would ever meet in their life

She told them that at some point
They would all leave each other
And venture out across the map

Some would wind up in cities
Some would wind up in houses
Some would wind up in Arabian deserts

But they would always be on the map

She told them that though the world was large
It was also containable in this sense

It could be looked at

Places could be found
And so could people

And she told them that if they ever missed someone
They should look at a map
And know that the person they were missing
Was right in front of them

When she had finished
She dismissed them for lunch

And they walked out whispering to each other

The speech had been a little too lofty
And sentimental for third graders
But it was the best she could do

When she went to put the map up
She came eye-to-eye with Toronto

It was as if it been waiting there
All along