I drive to the library not far from home.
I alter my route, ever so slightly, always aware that I’m stalking.
Really it’s no different than finding a reason to ride a bike past the house of the object of the first school girl crush.
You peek in the window as you ride past, hoping to catch a glimpse while praying that no one sees you.
After all, it isn’t the first time today.
Probably won’t be the last.
Still, I stalk.
Ever so impatiently.
Longing for the rows of white to appear in the window.
Rows of white littered with the black ink that will put me out of my misery.
Words on a page that will cure that need to know, the need to control.
The words that could alter the fate of the names listed alphabetically like the benefactors of a prosperous charity.
Day after day the blank windows fail to deliver.
I’m not asking for much, really.
Just two names.
Just a glimpse into who my sons will call teacher this year.