DARK OR NOT DARK

There is a young boy I've been working with recently. He is different from any other student I've taught. His use of language, the way he focuses on things, the direction his train of thought takes, is fascinating and unusual in my experience. Our times together are an adventure.

During our first lesson, he discovered a flashlight in my drawer and wanted to turn it on and off, on and off. "Is it dark or not dark?" he asked. He proceeded to place it in the closet, carefully shut the door, opened it to find the flashlight still on, then shut the door once more, asking over and over, "Is it dark or not dark?" This routine repeated itself several times. He sought out other dark spaces, such as a filing cabinet drawer, in which to hide the flashlight, opening and shutting the drawer as many times as I would permit before attempting to redirect his attention. At some point during each succeeding lesson, he has taken and hidden the flashlight.

Today he surprised me. Instead of seeking the flashlight, he asked, "Where is my heart?" then touched his chest. "Is this my heart?" "Yes," I replied. I tapped the table. "You can feel it go bump-bump, bump-bump." "Is my heart dark or not dark?" he wanted to know. I paused for a moment, then said, "Dark." "Where is my brain?" He put his small hands to his head. "Is my brain dark or not dark?" "It's dark," I said. "Inside or outside?" he questioned. "Inside," I said. He opened a picture dictionary we use to the last page, where astronauts are floating in space around the earth. "Are they inside or outside?" he queried. "Outside," I said. "Dark or not dark?" "Very dark," I said. He pointed to the stars. "It's a little bit dark," he remarked. It's more than a little bit, I wanted to say, but did not.

I thought about how I've been feeling about my upcoming journey. My husband and I are about to embark on a year on leave, spending half of it in Denmark, the other in Holland. I often get the impression that everyone expects me to be over the moon with excitement -- the thrill of it, the incredible opportunity to not work for a whole year and simply have the time and space to explore two new cultures! Who wouldn't be happy about such a chance? Who wouldn't be thankful to the core to have been given such a gift?

Don't get me wrong -- I am thankful. I am happy. I am also feeling trepidation, some fear and, at the moment, a good deal of sadness. I am leaving a job that I love, people I have come to care for deeply, a school where I have made connections and a place for myself. And I may not return. When you take a year's leave, you are promised a job in the district, but not necessarily in the same school. You must accept this when you go.

I have been doing my best to come to terms with this truth, to balance gratitude with sorrow. Each day, each encounter, with colleagues and students, brings with it a blend of emotions. I am trying to maintain my equilibrium and appreciate it all. When you work with young children, you get many chances to bring yourself back into the present, and it is frequently marvelous.

"Is my heart dark or not dark?" the child asked yet again. "It's dark," I repeated. He took my fingers and pressed them. "Dark or not dark?" "Dark," I said. "Where is my heart?" he wanted to know. "Inside or outside?" "It's inside," I told him. "You can't see it." He looked at me directly -- itself a rare occurrence -- touched the picture of outer space and stars, and said, "The moon is a light in my heart." "Yes," I replied. "Not dark."

Carole Greenfield grew up in Colombia and lives in New England, where she teaches multilingual learners at a public elementary school. She takes inspiration from her students and enjoys writing about what she learns from her time with them. In the previous century, her work appeared in such places as Red Dancefloor, Gulfstream and The Sow’s Ear. More recently, it can be found online at Dodging the Rain, Sky Island Journal, Stone Poetry Quarterly and Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, among others. Her first collection of poetry, Weathering Agents, was released by Beltway Editions last year.