12/19/10

Whiteboard Hell
By E.S. Wynn


I met her in a whiteboard hell where everything sagged like an overripe breast.

Our love was like a triangle. We were the complimentary angles, but there was always something in between, ninety degrees of something. Like an equation, she took my love, broke it down, carried the remainder and recombined it into some new form of expanded like terms until that hell collapsed under layers of bureaucracy and we were redistributed into new jobs.

Reduced again to our absolute values, we saw finally who each of us really was.

I was a six, she was a ten. What could I expect? When it came down to differences, we both knew our sum could only be negative.


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E.S. Wynn works as a math tutor at a charter school. Sometimes this is at odds with his English degree and passion for writing.