Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

She didn’t spare it a glance as she slid into the front seat. The opossums absorbed her full attention. During the drive, she petted and played with their ears and tails. I left her to it, knowing these were her final moments with them. Twenty minutes later, I parked along the gravel path that led to the entrance of the state park. “Ready?” I twisted in the dark to face her. She stared down at the animals on her lap. Her chest lifted with a heavy inhale, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she nodded, and a tiny smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Wrapped in blankets and escorted by the moonlight, we stepped onto the path in our soggy shoes and icy clothes. My breath formed puffs of white vapor, and my fingers were so cold they’d gone numb. But I was at ease. Unburdened. Peaceful. This deep, genuine sense of happiness was new to me. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so content. It had everything to do with her. In the space of six weeks, she’d become a coveted presence. I eagerly awaited every word from her mouth. Looked forward to seeing the ferocity in her eyes. Counted down the seconds until she punched back with another witty retort. As she lowered the opossums to the ground and coaxed them into the woods, I realized this was the side of her I cherished the most. With her guard down and her soft underbelly exposed, she was an angel beyond her astral form. Her power came from her inner grace and compassion. When she wasn’t trying to raise hell in my classroom, she was in...