He watched her leave; quietly, impassively, resolutely.
She closed the car door and sighed.
She glanced over her shoulder, then glided into the traffic.
She didn’t look back.
He watched the car disappear round the corner, retreated inside, and gently pulled the door.
This is the way the world ends.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
Newsflash: the plane has crashed; no survivors.
Gradually it dawned on her. Twenty years of tension, arguments, entrapment: over.
If he was dead, she was free!
Tears of relief welled up. Sweet release.
The front door opened. “Thank God I missed that plane!” he said, brushing away her tears.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
As a pack, my students hold the power. I walk a tightrope every second of every minute at school. One wrong move, one wrong word, and I lose it all. The balance between order and chaos is one child’s silent acquiescence.
They think they know it all…
Mercifully, they don’t.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
She was beautiful, alluring, desirable.
I moved gracefully towards her, straightening my bowtie.
Just as I arrived, she smiled … and accepted the hand of another suitor.
The embarrassment of turning back would burn.
With a deft sideways movement I stood before a plain woman.
“Dance?”
Unexpectedly, my heart awoke.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
“Three. Two. One. Coming, ready or nooot!”
She wriggled between the farthest packing crates, held her breath, and squeezed her eyes closed.
The truck doors shut.
Pitch black.
Slowly, the wheels beneath her moved.
“Oh, they’ll never find me now,” she giggled. “This is the best hiding place ever.”
Joan is an educator in Australia.
They had to cut me to take you.
I heard your cry fade down the hallway.
It haunts me nightly.
I bought you cards every birthday, not knowing if I should buy for a son or daughter.
You are fifty years old today.
I still crave my beautiful bastard baby.
Joan is an educator in Australia who loves the beauty of language.