Liam Perrin

“Not if you were the last person on Earth!” she said.

He paused. He thought about pointing out that if he were actually the last person, she wouldn’t be around to not go out with him. He thought about correcting her: ‘last man on Earth’ is what she meant. He thought about commenting – out loud – about how gender-inclusive language renders that phrase nonsensical. Interesting, isn’t it? he thought about saying.

He sensed she would not find it interesting. He sensed there were conversational land mines here. But her eyes flashed in challenge not in insult, so he stepped boldly.

“I think you mean ‘man,'” he said.

Click, said the land mine.

“Is that what you are?” said the girl.

He grinned.

The teacher concluded, “Those early scientists – Newton, Einstein, Hawking – What they didn’t understand was that natural phenomena are most stable when first discovered and then deteriorate as our understanding of them deepens.”

The bell rang.

“You have your assignment. See you tomorrow,” she said to a room already in motion.

The children bounded in slow loping arcs toward the door, tapping their books like balloons to keep them floating in front of them. Their laughter meandered in the syrupy air like whale speech as they joyfully and haphazardly careened out into the sunlit afternoon.