Just floating through the air.
Sitting here now, I can almost remember thinking that I’d remember the dust motes. Emerging from the bathroom, I’d walked down the hall on the way back to class.
And just across from the entrance to the school library, there were windows which looked out into the courtyard. The Florida sun would burn through the saline air of a beach life, highlighting the particulars of that first few periods of the day moment.
And just like then, I’m alone.
Like gasoline fumes, there was something mirage-like about the dust motes floating within the rays of light.
On a day which left no other impressions (where did they go? where do they go?), I still have that vision today. How can that be?
With my own children now at the age of me that day, I wonder what seemingly insignificant events interrupt their days. And I wonder too how much they’ll take with them.
So I sit here tonight thinking and writing because I don’t know what else to do.