Long Hand

I miss writing with a pen.

One time, many years ago, I told a friend that I could not think without a pen in my hand. I long for the days that the inspiration from a stick-in-hand could fill a page, or even just my head, with order and light.

Mrs. Alexander, my composition teacher at Grossmont Junior College, promised we undergrads that if we would order our thoughts on paper, we would benefit from the exercise with clear thinking. Tall, slender, and fashionably dressed, I believed her. As I recall, she would straighten giant-framed, Yves St Lauren glasses on her nose while changeling bracelets danced on her wrist.

I remember, in particular a pale pink dress with a white lace collar. You have to believe someone wearing a white lace collar, after all. And, she was right.

I chose to leave her class for a full-time job managing a sweater store. I hated to leave. She knew that. She asked me why I made that choice. I said my husband was in school and we needed the money. She nodded and said I was a good writer. Then she told me she wouldn't be there next semester as she had cancer.

I'm not sorry I left school to return to work full time, but...sometimes I wonder.

You were a beautiful woman, Mrs. Alexander. Thanks for the tip.