chrysalis-of-glass

Like most other rooms in the science hall, there were no desks, only chipped, graffiti-etched counters trailing pairs of wobbly stools.  Backpacks sagging with the unfamiliar weight of books and binders plopped onto the counters, an erratic drumbeat beneath the adolescent chatter.  Brrrrirrrrnnnng!  sang the bell.  Mr. Barton sighed, stiff joints creaking a little as he rose to his feet. Every year, he greeted each new class with his syllabus and his story.  In a voice as deep and ragged as his bubble-scarred face, he spoke - ''I served in the Air Force during Vietnam, and my unit was supposed to secure the area after every Agent Orange drop