My Hat

The first day I taught at the Convent,
I forgot my hat.
Today, one year later, I came back to submit an expense form for travel.
I didn't go in until 4, after school had ended.
For an hour before, I walked the gardens of the Cooper-Hewitt across the street.
I read every poster in the exhibit, 'Design for the Other 90%',
about devices and shelter designed to help the 1 billion people who live on a $1 a day.
I studied the bamboo water tread pumps, the brick making presses, the sand and water
ceramic coolers, the solar ovens, the 18-month shelters, the day labor station, and then
walked past the flower beds on the upper level
where I fell asleep on a bench beneath an arbor.
When I woke, the world seemed the same.
I strolled across the street.
There I put in my form.
About to leave, I saw Johnny, the evening maintenance man,
and rode with him on the elevator to the basement.
As he left with his hand truck of boxes of paper,
I let the elevator door go,
but some former fifth-grade students of mine,
on their way to volleyball practice,
spied me through the small portal on the elevator door,
even though it was dark inside the elevator,
and said, "Mr. Chang is in the elevator, Mr. Chang is in the elevator!"
As I stepped out to greet them,
they asked, "Where's your tie?",
and then one student crooked her head and said,
"Mr. Chang, what's my name?"
I couldn't remember so
I said I had forgotten.
She reminded me she was E.,
and then each of them came up to me
and asked, "Mr. Chang, what's my name?"
I remembered G., but I forgot A.,
I remembered M., but I forgot E.,
and I said sorry, sorry, sorry.
Then they all ran to the basement gym
and I left through the lobby.
But I had to come back again,
because I had left my hat.