My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Screw you, Granny! I'm gonna join a biker gang!" "Pardon, dearie?" "A biker gang! Gawd! I'm gonna join a biker gang and rip shit up, dude. So screw you." "Oh! Well, good for you, dear! I remember my days in a biker gang." "Er...what?" "Yes, indeed! Back in 1955, up to 1976. We ripped up the east coast like nobody's business. It was an all-woman's biker gang, too. We were called the Clits. Certainly difficult for the men to find us." "Um..." "Course, I suppose that's why Denise chose the name. I remember Denise. Tall and supple. Had the biggest, most beautiful breasts. Why, you could practically climb them like mountains. You might have even needed a sherpa. Not like Ella's ta-tas. Those were more molehills than Mount Everest. Shame, really - she did have quite a lovely face." "Uh, Granny?" "Boy, those were the days! Course, you co...

Even hours after the concert was over, my ears were ringing from standing so close to the PA speakers. I tried to sleep, but all I heard were bells. High-pitched bells whistling and clanging into the darkness. Clamorous and cacophonous bells accompanying my heartbeat. Screeching bells reminding me of school days when someone would pull the fire alarm, and we would be let out into the coldness of the soccer field, standing ankle-deep in the dew.

Today was a pretty good day, in all retrospect. I ran my first official Socratic seminar independently with my English classes, with two classes doing very well and two almost there with the student-led spirit of the conversations. Also, while we definitely need more time with our final deadline, the final pages of the yearbook are coming along quite nicely. I still have to cope with students misinterpreting some comments I've made, but that's par for the course as a teacher. Tonight was truly the icing on the cake, though, and just reiterated how lucky I am to have been chosen by my incredible wifey. She made a delicious angel hair and chicken dinner (I provided the wine and Moscow Mules), and we got to have some amazing conversations about everything from past jobs to mortality to gun control to a marriage-oriented tarot reading. We even had to keep pausing the first episode of the newest season of Queer Eye because we were so busy chatting. It was so refreshing to have suc...

Cacophony by Belinda Roddie The rain dampened everything, including the sound of my voice.

When I grow up, I want to be the host of a late night TV show. I'll make silly jokes and political quips, and I'll get to interview my favorite actors. I'll also listen to my favorite bands and shake their hands, all while I realize that they don't sound as good live as they do in their recordings. After each show, I'll get drunk like my dad and pass out in my dressing room, and I'll pretend that I'm on top of the fucking world on Twitter.

I Wish by Belinda Roddie I wish I could be perfect - not a flaw would mar my physicality or shape, nor my mind. When I was a child, I saw how my inferiority defamed me - I became a victim, bullied, shamed, because I couldn't stop making mistakes or break my foolish habits. I was named a scholar and a dreamer, but the brakes were used on my life time and time again. Failure can be an option, but alas, I feel like there's not much room for it. When I've stumbled, it affects my job, my class, and how I'm viewed in this modern world. No, I'm not perfect, and it's a nasty blow.