The Metal Box

Six educators slide into the elevator faces saying “Good morning”bodies saying“Lord… just let me make it to Friday.”

Smiles on autopilot.Coffee doing the bare minimum.All of us dragging—but still cute about it.

Doors close.Then—JERK.BOUNCE.

Elevator act like it forgot its job description.

Nervous laughter pop off first—because Black women laugh before we scream.

Then the silence say,“Oh.We stuck-stuck.”

Doors crack open—one of us escapes like“Y’all be blessed.”

Now it’s five.

Five personalities.Five energies.Five goddesses in a metal box realizing this could get real…but also real funny.

Because yes—this is dangerous.But also…ain’t nobody got time for a panic attack before first period.

One goddess slide her scarf off smooth ,and wrapped another one up like,“Here. Warmth is resistance.”

One goddess raise her phone to the sky like Simba, bars barely holding but determination strong, making sure the outside world know we alive in this steel death box.

One goddess do a full headcount, checking pulses and vibes,“Everybody breathing?Everybody still got sense?”

One goddess cool as ever, unbothered energy loud, like fear tried to enter and got told,“Not today, ma’am.”

And then…one goddess body said,“Hey.Emergency meeting.”

Stomach sprinting.Body functions filing grievances.Spirit yelling real urgent like,“If you don’t get out RIGHT NOW, this day is about to go left.”

Still—we laughed.Because what else you gon’ do but laugh when life keep testing you before the bell ring?

And here’s the part—

We may not matter to your data sets. We may not matter to your research.We may not show up right in your reports and percentages.

But in that metal box we proved something.

We got trapped. We got shook up. Then we got sent right back to class.

No candy. No teddy bear. No “Take a moment to process.”

Just—“Alright y’all…let’s keep it moving.”

Because we still gotta push even when we need to breathe. Still gotta show up after fear tap-danced on our nerves.

Still gotta step because ain’t that what we do?

We keep stepping. Bell to bell. Crisis to classroom. Laughing through it because sometimes that’s the only softness we’re allowed.

Five goddesses.One elevator. Zero breaks.

And somehow—we still showed up.