Our grade school sometimes smelled of popcorn.
We caught the warm and buttery scent
as we reluctantly returned from recess.
It was always coming from the teachers' lounge,
that ever mysterious location, to which our access was
forbidden.
I stayed late some Thursday afternoons
while my mom sold
something or other
in the gymnasium.
The girl I knew
(who wasn't really my friend,
but she was there)
and I went exploring.
Broom closets, coat rooms, and classrooms
were all fine places for our endeavor.
We felt deliciously disobediant,
and our rebellious rampage grew
larger and larger
until it climaxed
at the teachers' lounge.
She wanted to go in,
but I refused.
She pleaded with me, and
at the time, I didn't know why
it felt so wrong.
I think it was because
I wanted to leave myself
that mystery.
