August 1st, 2002

Dear teacher,

Note to self—I am not worthy of writing this just because I think I'm invincible when I'm not. If I raise my voice or hit a wall out of frustration, I don't gain any power. But when I'm thinking of you and this year I had with you, I can see what it's like to believe I could be special. I know that I am not special, not in the usual sense of the word. I'm eighteen and nearly finishing highschool, yet I don't feel like an adult. At least, not when this all happened. The incident with you. For a bit of context, I signed up for an elective class at my school for photography at the end of junior year. Not because I wanted credit for a potential college freebie to get it over with, but because I genuinely enjoyed photography. I'm in love with the idea that someone can snap a photo and someone else can find so much more about it than I originally intended. My teacher for the photography class, Mr. Belmont, was that person. It was you. I'll let you savior the thought that you were at the right place and right time—which you were for some time—but I know now I couldn't have been more mistaken.

It was the first day of senior year that I left my house on Indian Park Drive. Outdated I know, but that's how most things in the middle-of-nowhere Tennessee are. I left with my old camera that I don't care to remember the series number for and a restrained goodbye to my mom who was too busy on a call with her neighbor to give a proper "Have a good day, sweetie." Not that I would've cared even though I know I should. Every day of last year when I left home onto the graveled road out onto the street my friend Louis met me at the stop sign. And this year was no different, there he was with that perpetually energetic look on his face and an eagerness for the day. I envied how he both hated school and loved going, I was never able to find that balance.

School—as pretentious as it sounds—is my favorite place to be. You would know that because I never missed a day. "Hi Louis, ready for our last year?" I remember saying and Louis shrugged. "I'm ready to see Katherine." He said that because I knew that she got her braces off over the summer and her breasts filled out. Every guy in school, apart from me, was obsessed with her. It was gross that Louis was only driven to go to school to catch glimpses of the new hot girl. My sister dealt with the same thing, but she had the same boyfriend since middle school and I didn't like him very much. It was good to know that you weren't swayed to look towards girls—which is surprising with all things considered. My sister or Katherine would never have to feel special because of you.

When I got in on my first day of senior year, your class was homeroom and Louis was in it with me. Of course, he signed up because Katherine was signing up too. It was nice to be in a class that piqued my interests and while you were giving your beginning of the year speech I was busy getting distracted by your published photography hanging on the wall. I knew who you were before signing up for the class and still I felt special that I was accepted into the course when I know some kids who signed up didn't make the cut. How Louis got accepted I'll never know, but maybe it was because you wanted to make him feel special too?

It seemed you were impressed by my work when it slid out of my folder onto the floor after class. The two of us alone and you picking up the photos I had taken of myself on a rainy day and a close up of a dead moth in the waxy tomb of my candle on the nightstand. "You've got something special, Harley." The first time you said my name was electrifying. Like someone so accomplished and amazing took the time to pay attention to my name on your roster. "Not as special as being published like you." I said and that made your eyes light up. You finished helping me with my photos and we talked about our favorite photographers, you being of them. You laughed and put your hands on your hips, a rogue button on your shirt letting the white tank underneath show. I liked that you didn't assume my flattery was to get a good grade at the end of the year, because if it was just that I would've kept my 4.0 gpa.

You insisted I call you, "Michael" for when we were alone together. A first name basis with my already favorite teacher was promising and I had just smiled, leaving your class with the thoughts of being noticed—and more importantly special. That is my first entry for now because you assigned us readings about our inspirations for photography and it's more advanced than I anticipated. It'll take me all night even though it's due at the end of the week.

Sincerely,
Harley.

August 5th, 2002

Dear Louis,

You asked to turn in your assignment on Monday because you've spent every day after school talking to Katherine when she seemed to be entertaining every guy who looked her way. It's annoying as much as it is entertaining to watch you do anything and everything to make her think you're cool. I'm not mad that you didn't eat lunch with me after the first day all the way to the end of the week or that today you weren't at the stop sign because you were too tired from staying up late all night. I'm mad because you didn't tell me that here in the middle of nowhere, we had a smart teacher who substantially raised the bar on what a good teacher should be. I also don't blame you for the last couple months before the school year was over either, but It would've helped if you weren't wrapped around a girl-who-doesn't-want-you's finger.

Your friend,
Harley.

(p.s she doesn't think you're special.)