Cup O' Noodles

My teaching partner turned to me today and said, "I sure hope people show up for your presentation on Friday."

I've been worried sick that I'll walk into the school in Portland, set up my computer and projector, and then wait only to find that no one decided to come hear my presentation. I've been a bit worried these days and my teaching partner has had to hear it.

"Why do you hope that?" I asked her.

"I can't imagine, after all the work you've put into this what you'll be like if no one shows up!"

"Have I been an ass?"

"No, not an ass, but obsessed." She smiled. She's young and cute and has a great smile and I tried to focus on her smile as my stomach sank.

Obsessed. Yes, that pretty well sums it up.

Then at lunch we had a panel discussion on National Coming Out Day. Three other teachers sat with me in front of most of the school as they ate lunch and we were interviewed by two 8th graders. One of the teachers on the panel loves to talk. I mean, she loves to talk particularly when the subject is about herself. So she talked...at length after every question. The first question: When did you come out and what was that like?

Talkie teacher: ...forget it...I'm not even going to try to summarize her monologue...

Then the microphone comes to me. I sneak a peak at my teaching partner in the back of the room and she is smiling because we are both annoyed by talkie teacher's need to talk ad nauseum about herself.

Me: I was 19. It went great.

And then I handed the microphone to Sally sitting at my left. She handed it right back.

Obsessed. I am obsessed with people who have absolutely no regard for how anyone else feels.

During this discussion/presentation the girls are munching away on their lunches. Sandwiches to my right, a crunchy apple to my left, and a girl, slurping Cup O' Noodles directly in front of me.

I'm not sure what it is about Cup O' Noodles and me. Every slurp is an irritant. Grating. The noodle, wet and limp, flies up, hits the nose and then gets sucked in. Only it doesn't get completely sucked in. Bits fly to the left and right, drop into the lap of the slurper, and the broth, greasy and salty, dribbles down the front of the slurpers shirt.

"How has being gay changed your life?"

Slurp, slurp, slurp all the while I'm waiting for talkie teacher to finish her story.

I feel sick to my stomach. The Cup O' Noodles is being devoured in front of me. Slaughtered and sucked, dribbled and dissected noodle by noodle.

They hand the microphone to me. I can't think of anything to say.

"I think my being gay has changed other people's lives more than my own." It sounded snobbish, but it's true. I've known all my life. The only change was finding a name for what I was, for what I am and then there I was, out. Then back in again when I became a teacher and then out again when I decided to name it again.

"I've always been this. It's not news to me." My eyes are so focused on anything BUT the slurper at this point. "But every time I have to tell someone, which non-gay people don't have to do, there is a reaction. Sometimes it's a good reaction, sometimes it's not."

I can hear the slurper.

"My life isn't changed by their reaction. Theirs is...if only temporarily."

Then the talkie teacher asks for the microphone back and expands her original story. It's changed her life and she's about to share every detail with us.

Next question: What advice do you have for students who might be questioning?

I'm first. They hand the microphone to me.

"Be gentle with yourself. Take your time. Let all possibilities be possibilities. You'll know. Trust yourself on the inside and don't listen to the others on the outside. You're not alone. Find someone to talk to. Be patient. Forgive yourself for your doubts."

I kid you not, slurpy girl tips the Cup of the Cup O Noodles straight up to grasp the last slimey noodle with her tongue. Her lips do not touch the styrofoam rim of the cup. She taps the bottom of the inverted Cup. Her tongue works as if mining the air for diamonds. The teacher to my left has nothing more to add to my statement. She pats me on the back and says, "Nicely stated." The teacher to her left says, "Bravo. Well said." But then talkie teacher takes the microphone and begins a checklist of dos and don'ts.

The last noodle is dangling and the slurpy student's chin is covered in greasy broth, her tongue a flag in an unseen wind.

I will forever associate the sound of the talkie teacher to the slurp and slime of the Cup O Student.

I am obsessive. It is so true. So true.