Feeling the Music © JLeahy
“Are you laughing at me?” Enoch asked me. His voice quivered and softened at the end of his question. Self pity.
“No! I love the orchids. They are beautiful.”
I looked at him, the sincerity in his large brown eyes made me want to laugh again, but I stopped myself. Without the harshness of the piercings in his nose and above his brows, and his terrible haircut, you could call him handsome.
“How did you afford this?”
“Oh, I had some money; my casual job.”
I looked at this 18-year-old boy and wondered what his parents would think, especially his mother – if she knew he was chasing his middle-aged music teacher. I held the orchids closer and observed the silky tenderness in its intricate layers of petals. I knew these flowers so well.
Each morning, I admired them as I passed the flowers at the front of the principal’s office.