“I’m not sure.”

The words echoed in my mind well after they were spoken, free from the clutter that gave weight or value to my thoughts. I hadn’t heard the question, but I knew the answer was buried somewhere, shoved in a closet with my dirty clothes, begging to be remembered. My knowledge became dormant and stiff, stinking the conscience so easily drowned by a perfect appearance.

“Are you listening to me? What’s the answer?”

The curved lines of a surprisingly perfect drawing connected as I glanced up at the teacher. At least a dozen people were raising their hands, but she had chosen me. After all, one silent person is more significant than a thousand laughs to the ears of a comedian. The demand for perfection and absolute attention controls even those so far in their life and careers; I can’t dare be the one to question that impartiality.

“What is identity?” the board read.

How dare she ask a question she doesn’t have the answer to? I watch her pretend to be content every class, pretending that her passion is to bother children who don’t care for her. She boasts of the path she took in our school as she searches for jobs on Indeed. The tabs looking for therapists are hidden so well behind countless pages of worksheets and study guides. The shine of her shoes is lost after trudging the bland halls, and her eyes have followed suit. But she will stand tall above me, questioning what identity is, when she may never know hers.

“I’m not sure, Ms. Jenkins.”

The tapping of her foot stopped slowly as she peered above her small glasses into my eyes. They were dark, yet patient; I was begging her for an answer. And for a second, we were one and the same. Two people, lost, searching for something we didn’t know existed. We were both singing songs no one else could hear. The compassion boiled into hatred and frustration as I stared through her eyes and into the mind that I knew hated itself. Ms. Jenkins felt the fear of being understood. She felt jealous of my ability to address my shortcomings. The woman who I truly saw was gone as the hatred boiling in her heart was released onto me.

I didn’t have a chance to pity her. Her poison had already dissolved the entire room. I let it rain down on me as a reminder that ignorance is the only indefinite end. For now, it is better to be unsure.