I'm wondering where she is. It's the end of the day. I have one student left. Everyone else has come and gone. It's getting late. I walk over to a box that's in the middle of the large room, this is not my classroom. I wonder what's in it. I look inside. The box is half filled with wooden blocks. The blocks are different colored, covered with prints of animals, objects, numbers, and patterns. It's getting late.

I bend down and take a handful of the blocks. I see my student, he's sitting on his legs, and he’s about four or five. He has a large smile on his small face. He looks at me for a quick minute and then goes back to piling blocks; they are littered all around him. He is building a city. I begin to help him.  At this minute the boy doesn't care how late his mother is.

I am. I look up at the clock on the wall. I want to go home. It's been a long day. He is piling blocks, one on top of the other. The student continues this work until there are no blocks left. He looks at me. I look over at the box in the middle of the room. I get up. I bring the box back and dump the blocks. My student and I get back to work.  The little guy has a grin on his face. He is piling the blocks high now. Working faster. He stops from time to time to adjust his glasses. He is happy in his world. I'm wondering to myself if I should call his mother, to make sure everything is alright. She's rarely this late.

Then we're out of blocks. The work has stopped.

My student has gotten up and he looks over his city for a minute. Then he turns into Godzilla. He is smashing blocks, he is lifting his feet to squash buildings, he lifts his little arms in the air, waving. As he is about to pick up some of the toy cars he placed in his city of blocks, we hear his mother. She cries out his name and begins to apologize profusely for her son. For the mess. For being late. 
                        
I try to calm her and tell her its okay. She tries to help by beginning to pick up the blocks. I ask to her to stop.  I tell her I was just glad she was okay. My student goes over to pick up his backpack. He adjusts his glasses again. Then he runs over to her. He grabs her hand and they leave.

I was a substitute art teacher for a day care center located on the first floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center. There were alot of parents of our students who worked in both towers. My thoughts today were about them that day.

"The Towers: taller than trees, bigger than life."
Photo by Roz Dotson, circa 1988