I take attendance, call the roll. Each child
answers: the sad child, the loud child, the doing-
well, grief-muted, visits-the-principal-
often children. But not the one who doesn’t
hear any names called—the look on his face
blank as a sheet of copier paper, snow
storm in the Himalayas, desert where
sun can blind and throw up a mirage. Just
as the white noise of our classroom erases
our classroom, allows him to travel
wherever he is right now. He is my
greatest hope for the future: he may be
© by Paula Schulz.
Used with the author’s permission.