A manilla envelope in my box: evaluations. I opened it and thumbed through the pages, noticing (and skipping) those which stayed inside predictable boxes: the perfect column of “exceeds expectations,” the zig-zag alternation between 3’s and 4’s intended to suggest real thought, and of course the completely blank. Two evaluations caught my eye, however. Both had single sentences below the same question: Does the instructor exhibit enthusiasm for his subject?
One response—looped cursive, probably a Bic: He is always super excited about poetry and the way he joked, wandered around, and even cried helped me learn.
The second—block capitals, probably a green Pilot V5: I found it hard to pay attention and stay awake sometimes because he didn’t really have much energy or excitement.
I slid the evaluations back into the envelope and returned the envelope to my box. Walking to my car, I wondered if I ought to cry, or think of a joke, but I had trouble paying attention to what the evaluations said. New snow was slanting from the sky and tumbling across my windshield, flake by flake, and it reminded me of the beach sand I used to blow from between the spread pages of my textbooks in college.