the mutual admiration society

It's a last-minute catch-up before he crosses the border, the last time we'll see each other, unless it's not. It's a handshake and a hug and a quick accounting of what's next and what's going on. He tells me, "School, always school," when I ask of his intentions, and he lays out his indefinite yet solid plans: maybe Cancun, for work and university, not sun, maybe Tijuana, which makes me cringe. He acknowledges my qualms, agrees that it's not a good place, but, "You gotta go where the opportunity is."

I love this kid. His attitude is the standard by which I judge all others: despite his realism, he is undaunted. When he says, "life is what you make it," I believe.

So it makes me smile when he excuses my messy desk as "just busy," when he flatters by asking how I do "so many good things." It touches me when he says he's glad to know me, that "[one] doesn't meet many people like you." Likewise, Fernando, I'm sure.

I know that I'm not half the woman he thinks I am, let alone the teacher, but when he leaves, I feel as if I could be.