ello, jello

Just remembered. Why did I forget? And why am I remembering now, 15 years later? Ms. Stephanie played ocean wave sounds while we sprawled out in a deadman’s pose on the coarse carpet floor. Yoga was a competition to see who could hold the poses the longest, to see who could stretch the furthest. There wasn’t any room really for 30 kids in that classroom. His shoes touching my ankles. Her elbows in my side. What would it have looked like if someone came walking by? 30 silent children on the floor of a dark classroom while the ocean roars. I hate smooth jazz because of my aunt, the way she had her boombox locked on the radio station in the back room of her insurance office. We couldn’t turn it down, we couldn’t turn it off, we couldn’t be louder than the music. We existed in the shadows with styrofoam cups of microwave Kirkland green tea, almost silent with the exception of maybe some Kenny G.