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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When a class is boring, the air can feel close and rebreathed - not a comfortable feeling for a COVID child. When the class is finally over, it’s like you’ve escaped something. Did you know an hour has 60 minutes because ancient Babylonians used a seximal system? (base six). The class I was in was small, just eight of us around a table in a small room (four students were missing that day) and somehow the class had wandered into the unstable, waring, state of the world. The professor ended his unscheduled thought, on the result of nuclear war, by saying, “After the nuclear exchanges, when the cockroaches take over..” “No,” I interrupted - it was a flashbulb moment - an impulse. I don’t usually interrupt professors, “Ants. Ants would take over - they’re mobile super-organisms, cockroaches are just meat to them.” His smile and nod of approval felt warm and cozy, as if my emotions had a texture and temperature - but I knew it was something assigned to me briefly, like a motel room. Nuclear survival isn’t exactly my bailiwick, I’m not sure where I picked that thought up or why I had the confidence to offer it. Confidence is a thin lever to work with when talking to a professor. I’ve seen professors crush brash students. The bell rang, I had survived, and Leong was waiting for me in the hall. The crowd in the hall was moving on toward their classes, like water splashing in every direction. Leong barked a laugh. “What?” I asked. “Neh,” she said, waving her hand (meaning forget it). “What?” I asked again. “When I was little, I would visit my grandparents' farm, in Shandong (province, China). They would call their cows in with a bell,” she said, motioning, with both hands to include the crowded hall. “We’re the most privileged cows in the universe,” she suggested smilingly. “I suppose we are,” I agreed, as we passed out into a wind as cold and harsh as witches' breath.
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