Peruvian Politics Class

He suddenly stops.
From the front of the lecture hall,
He looks
To me.

“Do you have anything
To add?”
My partner’s distant voice
Inquires.
In Spanish.

I tread into my
1st day of kindergarten.
Looking through the wet cellophane of my
Tear-filled eyes, I only recognize
My name in bulky letters on a celebratory label.
A breeze shifts the glossy
Alphabet cards hanging over the chalkboard
Together in time, a metronome
Behind the cacophony of voices,
Anxious mothers and soothing teachers.

I slowly shake my head.
Shaking to remove the option of tears.
Shaking to dissolve the threatening bile.

The politics class,
All the students turned in their chairs,
My friends nodding smiling
The Peruvians staring horrified.

That scene from The Princess Diaries.
Running out of class,
Going to get sick.

“I can’t.”

I should say it in Spanish.
Just to know
They know.