She looked like the kind of girl who would give anything for something: lips pushed forward naturally, brow raised, sitting forward in her seat. She pointed her toes and crossed her ankles beneath her chair, intertwining her arms and resting her chin on her hands.
Her resting posture was a teacher’s dream. Nothing escaped her darting eyes, and no sound fell short of her lifted ears. If she stopped for a moment and thought deeply, she could even wiggle the muscles on the side of her head so that her ears perked up visibly, thrilling the lectures and babbling brooks who loved her devoted attention.
And it wasn’t just a facade. Every now and then, her intertwined arms would unfold, and she’d raise her hand high in the air to ask a probing question.
Watching her from a seat in the back of the room, I wondered how someone could maintain such constant utter commitment to the present moment. She inhaled the now, scarcely pausing to let out her breath into the past. Did the march of time, the promise of the imminent, even concern her?
She was exactly the type of person who would give everything for anything. If I had to guess, I bet her greatest fear was the empty moments.