We were playing catch in the hallway
as you do when you’re in Fifth Grade
and laughing and joking
as you do when you’re boys
and I threw a little high
as you do when you’re uncoordinated
and I hit the light fixture on the ceiling
and time
slowed
immeasurably.

There’s slow motion
and there’s indolent.
Time went torpid
as I watched the beauty
and the horror
of the glass shattering
then raining down
onto the floor
only to crackle further
into tinier pieces
below.

No one was close enough to the glass
to be hurt
but it was an explosive event
nonetheless.

“I’ll pay for it,” I said,
but was glad that no one heard.
Who knows how much the city school system pays
for their lights? Thousands?

Mrs. Rosenfeld came out of her classroom
to see what was going on
and soon enough
we all knew who was at fault.
I didn’t hide it.
I couldn’t.

I didn’t have to pay
in money
but the guilt was powerful
for the rest of the day
and I didn’t play in the halls
for at least a week after that.

Time sped up
and I didn’t stay ashamed
for what I had done
for long.