I worked a party today and saw a familiar face. Perhaps I met her before. With the tension of business politeness we asked where we knew each other from. She was my old teacher.
She wasn’t just any teacher. She was my 7th grade biology teacher, second period who took a maternity leave for twins. I made balloons for those twins.

But what she didn’t know was that I was anorexic and depressed and suicidal when I was in her class. I got bullied in her class. Her substitute teacher was a creep and called me attractive. What she didn’t know while she was gone was that I was hurting. She couldn’t possibly have known.

She asked me where I went to school now. She asked me if any of my old classmates were there with me. I smiled laughed politely and said no. What I didn’t tell her was that was the point of going to a new school. To not have to see my old classmates.

There were so many words unsaid. Questions we wanted to ask. Curiosity unquenched. But I gave her my card, and told her to hire me for a party sometime.
Mrs. Macy could tell I was uncomfortable with my middle school years. She could tell she missed something. She could tell I was better now.  But I wish I could tell her my story.

But all in all it wasn’t that bad. It was just another drop in the bucket of life experiences. One of those little things you write a piece about and then move on.