trouble

She leans forward across the desk that's shoved up next to mine, something on the tip of her tongue. She takes a breath then hesitates.

"I don't feel comfortable saying this," she says, whatever this may be. I have asked her no questions, personal or otherwise, invited no discussion. I'm just sitting at my desk finishing my lunch.

"Then you shouldn't say it," I emphasize, both sincere and relieved. "But," I add lightheartedly, "if there's something you need to ask someone, I have heard it all."

Two days later I hear it again, a different story from a different girl, unless her friend was running reconnaissance. I realize as we're talking, again out in the hall, that I had told a truth to which I've been a little oblivious: I have gotten pretty good at this. I am not indifferent to the dramas and the crises, but I am mostly unphased, at least on the surface at the moment, at least in my expression and tone.

When told about a pregnancy, a deadbeat dad, a lost job, a sudden move, a sheriff's knock upon the door, whatever else can knock a kid off-kilter in one five-day span, I can listen and I can calm. I can tell the truth as I see it and somehow reassure. Once upon a time these conversations filled me with above-my-pay-grade jitters; now I'd feel highly qualified to talk folks back in off the ledge. I don't know if word has gotten around or if they've just no where else to turn; I suspect both might be true. Regardless, I don't seek these troubles out. I just look up, and they're there.