Auxiliar Life

At 8:20 I finish my long commute and enter the warmth of the campus.  I buy my daily breakfast panini and stroll to the quiet cement wall to take a seat.  Hundreds of students are in their first period class and the awkward energy of adolescence is everywhere.

My breakfast purchase is fresh bread and tomato oil topped with cheese and bit of ham. The air is chill and the stately classroom buildings rest in the approaching dawn.

After my short rest in the pleasant morning air, I head inside to finish any remaining prep for the day's classes.  There are three desktops in the spacious teacher's room. Deemed old by their apperance, but faithful as a perfect pair of sneakers.

Then I am waving, greeting, and teaching mini lessons to curious kids living pieces of their lives in their second language. I am an auxiliar in Spain.  I am a volleyball tutor. A biology support. A music professor. Always in English. Always in English..unless I can sneak some Spanish in without upsetting the admins. Sometimes Spanish gives the kids the hope of success they needed to participate in the English lesson.

I pay my rent with my stipend. And split the groceries with some loved ones. If I finish without too much damage to my savings, all the better. But my life here is worth a risk. I have love. That much is clear. And I think it was fate that brought me to Spain.