Just Another Lazy Morning
It's another lazy morning, laced with ice-cold water dripping down the side of the glass and sticky red lipstick smeared across my face, more a parody of beauty and an acquiescing to my mother's wishes than it is an effort to look presentable.
It's another lazy morning, my student (tutee?) diligently adding and subtracting polynomials and binomials and monomials, the graphite scratching clear, dark lines on the binder paper, just as I've told her to do. In ten minutes, I will check on her, and mark her paper up with green marker, and we'll sip our waters and work on the next subject, but for now, we wait and we work and we breathe.
It's another lazy morning, a morning that, if I had been older, would be filled with harder work than teaching math in my own home, cool and calm and quiet, an obvious contrast with the warm and rushed and noisy workspace of my father. If I was older, would that be me rushing to deliver this report, running to fix the lights, shoes slapping the pavement and orders barking out of a phone? Perhaps. But I am not older. I am only a girl, and I am only a tutor.
It's another lazy morning, and I wish it would be spent with friends and music and happiness, but it is only filled with monotony and silence and maths.