My Cardboard Balcony

I Wanted To by Belinda Roddie I wanted to remind the students that they were courageous, turning to the storm, their faces forward, ready to combat the sting of rain, the deluge, and the scorn that could be worse than lightning. I became convinced that I was a mentor that they would look up to, but something in my brain nagged me about it, warning me, "You may be brave in some ways; in others, you're not!" I thought about it and knew this was true, so I took in a breath and promptly sought to be identified the way I knew was right for me. So, in a simple way, the class had taught me at last to be brave.

I lit a candle to illuminate the room, and I spotted a slumped body against the red velvet right corner, something wet dripping from the collar of her robe. At first, I was worried that she was dead, and that the wet something was blood. Upon closer inspection, however - I took great care not to let the wax fall onto either my bare skin or the presumed victim - I saw that the liquid was strong honey whiskey, and the individual had simply collapsed due to immense intoxication.