Flashback Friday

Molly on the first day of third grade, 1989, age 8.

Porter on the first day of third grade, 2010, age 8.

My sister Bethany was the first to spot the similarities in the matching sets of brown eyes on these two kids and she put the pictures together side by side for easier comparison.

Porter will often make a worried face or sarcastically roll his eyes in a way that looks familiar and reminds me of something, now I know what it is. Me.

Last week I started taking a creative writing class at Mesa Community College. The show Community might have been involved in my decision. Mostly I felt like I was forgetting what it was about me that made me be me and like that person. I needed a place where I wasn't "Sweetheart" or "Mommy" but just Molly. It was a spontaneous decision that I had been thinking of making for a while.

I absolutely love my class. We have a handful of people in their mid to late 50's coming after work to get help on their novels or to just expand their hobby of writing short stories. One guy is almost done with his sci-fi novel and hopes to make it a trilogy with the thought of someday becoming a movie. Another guy is writing a screenplay and just taking the class for feedback. There are a couple girls that sit by each other but I'm not sure if it's because they already know one another or because they have the same amount of body piercings and love for zombies. One girl has black hair with bright blue roots and wears foundation makeup that's two shades too light for her skin. I think I'm the only girl in the class that wears lipstick and a bra. I sit by a man that texts so much throughout the three hours he probably could have written several small stories by the end of class. There's this guy that works for Google and he sets up his laptop right in front of him and types notes the whole time with his boney fingers. He has long hair that droops over one eye and he talks the same way I imagine a Shetland pony would. If Shetland ponies could talk. One man is an English teacher by day and knows the title and author of just about anything. I like this guy because he has a pregnant wife who will have her baby before the end of the course and he's proud of her. Last night he shared something he said to his wife that rhymed on accident. He said, "I love the way you make me smile, whenever I see you in profile." I think he'd be a cool teacher.

My teacher is in her mid to late 30s, I estimate. She has strawberry-blond hair that I think is natural because she's also got the freckles that go with it. Her teeth are very straight and her eyelashes unusually long. I stayed late after class last night to ask what literary magazines she would recommend and almost felt comfortable enough to ask if she has her eyelashes done. Maybe two more classes and I could pull off that question without offending. She has a tattoo on her right leg just above the ankle of an Indian band and feather. It looks about as classy as permanent body graffiti goes and I like it. She casually drops cuss words as easily as you and I would say "if", "and" or "but" and refers to herself in the third person. It works, though. I sit with pen in hand and jot notes on everything interesting and even not-so-interesting. My reading wish list is twelve books longer than it was two weeks ago and I'm planning a trip to the library tomorrow.