"Who's this?" Sonya's roommate asks as she eyes me up and down. It's a late August Friday night and I've spent most of it with Sonya, one of two people I knew before moving to Massachusetts. After three hours of conversation over Thai food, she insited I check out her new home on the otherside of Boston.


"A BTR boy?" Her roommate, whose name escapes me but the freakum dress she wore out that night surely doesn't, continues on with her inspection of me. ( BTR = the teaching program they're involved in. )With one hand stuffed in my pantspocket and the other nervously scratching the back of my neck, I glance to Sonya and wait for her response.


"No... he's a Harvard Law School boy."


With that, freakumdress girl nods her head, smiles, and introduces herself to me. "Sorry," she says, "I just figure everyone who comes 'round here is a teacher. I mean, ....." I nod, feign a smile, and turn my attention away from her and toward my thoughts.


Is that who I am now?

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