WORLD OF WORDS

The next morning, James Jovel stood before the community center, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his faded jacket. The morning fog clung to the streets, casting a muted light on the town. He had left his workshop earlier than usual, telling himself it was for supplies, but in truth, he had been avoiding the shop, the place where his secret was too loud to ignore. His workshop had always been his sanctuary, but now it felt like a prison built from shame.

He glanced at the building before him. The community center was an old brick structure with faded paint and ivy creeping along the edges. Inside, the hum of activity could be heard faintly through the windows. A cheerful group of people entered and exited the building, some young, some old, all with a sense of purpose.

James hesitated, his boots rooted to the cracked sidewalk. The flyer Flora had handed him seemed heavier than it was, its crisp edges felt like a mark of both hope and humiliation. It seemed so simple: Free Adult Literacy Classes. To others, it was just an announcement. To James, it was the weight of years spent hiding his inability to read and write.

"What if they laugh? What if I'm the oldest one there?" The thoughts circled in his mind, a whirlwind of doubts.

But another thought, quieter but more persistent, broke through: What if this is the change I need?

With a long, slow breath, James crossed the threshold into the community center.

Inside, the space was warm and inviting, with an earthy scent of wood and coffee that seemed to envelop him in comfort. A group of seniors sat around a table near the windows, their laughter carrying across the room. Nearby, a mother and her children stood by a bulletin board, scanning various flyers, while a couple of teenagers lingered by the entrance, waiting for something.

James felt like an intruder, out of place in his worn jacket and boots, surrounded by people dressed in smart, casual clothes. He took a step forward, his gaze darting nervously from one person to the next. His fingers grazed the edges of the chair nearest to him, and for a moment, he considered turning around and walking out.

But then he saw her. Flora John was standing near a table, organizing a few books, her eyes bright and focused. She looked every bit the teacher; calm, poised, welcoming, but there was no judgment in her gaze, no sign of superiority. She was simply there, quietly doing her work.

When she noticed him, she straightened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"You made it," she said warmly, walking toward him.

James shifted uncomfortably. "I… I thought I'd check it out," he muttered, the words coming out too quickly.

Flora's smile softened, her expression kind but with an edge of curiosity. "Well, I'm glad you're here. We've got a class starting in a few minutes. You're welcome to sit in, no pressure."

The invitation was simple, but the weight of it nearly took James's breath away. What did she mean by no pressure? It felt like he was stepping into an unknown world. He glanced around the room.

A young woman was sitting at a table, a notebook open in front of her, tapping a pen against the paper in nervous anticipation. An older man sat alone by the window, his graying hair slightly disheveled as he stared out into the parking lot. A child wandered across the room, tugging on the sleeves of her mother, her soft voice breaking the quiet hum of the place.

Flora handed him a clipboard. "Just put down your name and any information you're comfortable sharing. I'll explain everything when we start."

James looked at the form, his stomach twisting. The lines on the page were like barriers. His fingers gripped the pen tightly, but no words came to him. His eyes burned with frustration, and for a fleeting moment, he considered walking out and pretending it never happened.

But Flora was still there, patiently waiting, her presence calm but firm.

"You don't have to fill it out now," she said gently, seeing his hesitation. "Just take your time."

He exhaled sharply, relief washing over him as he nodded. "Thanks."

She led him to a seat next to a middle-aged woman with soft, kind eyes. James sat down awkwardly, unsure where to place his hands. He couldn't help but feel like a stranger in this world, a world of letters and words, of meaning he couldn't quite grasp.

The session began simply enough. Flora introduced herself, her voice warm and welcoming. "I know some of you are here because you've struggled with reading and writing, and some of you are here to improve what you already know. That's okay. We're all learning together."

Her words were soft but steady, like the rhythm of a heartbeat. James could feel the sincerity in her voice, and somehow, it made him feel a little less alone.

Flora then asked each participant to share their name and why they'd come to the class. When it was James's turn, his mouth went dry. His heart raced.

"I'm James Jovel," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm a carpenter. I… I'm here because I want to do better."

He felt the eyes of the group on him, kind, curious, but not judgmental. His throat tightened. The words hung in the air like a weight, but no one said anything.

"That's a great reason," Flora said, her voice light. She smiled. "Thank you for sharing, James. I think we can all agree that we're here to make our lives better, one step at a time."

The relief he felt was almost overwhelming. She didn't press him. She didn't ask him to go further. She just let him be.

The class began with simple exercises. Flora handed out sheets with basic words, words that he should have known but had never truly learned. As the group worked through the sheets together, James found himself staring at the letters, trying to force them into shapes he could understand.

Each word felt like a puzzle, each sentence a maze. His hands felt cold as he traced the letters with his fingers, struggling to make sense of the letters and sounds. Flora moved around the room, helping individuals when needed, offering words of encouragement, but James was focused on just one thing: What if I can't do this?

He forced the thought aside.

One word at a time.

He traced the letters again.

"Cat."

Simple.

Cat.

He said the word aloud, testing the sound. It was familiar, but the weight of it was heavy. He looked up and saw the others working in their own quiet corners. Some struggled, too, but none seemed to carry the shame he did.

By the end of the session, James's head ached with the effort. But there was something different, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

As the class began to disperse, Flora walked over to James. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her eyes kind and sincere.

James smiled, a small, hesitant smile, but it was a start. "Like I've got a long way to go."

"That's okay," she said softly. "Every step is progress. Don't be hard on yourself."

He nodded, feeling something stir within him. Maybe it wasn't about being perfect. Maybe it was about showing up, day after day.

"I'll see you next time?" Flora asked, her voice hopeful.

James hesitated. A year ago, he would have turned away, too scared to admit he needed help. But now, something had shifted. He had taken the first step.

"Yeah," he said, his voice steady for the first time in a long while. "I'll be here."

That night, as James sat in his workshop, the familiar scent of wood and oil surrounded him. The tools he had known for years lay on the workbench, but his mind was elsewhere. The lines on the page, the letters he had struggled with, kept replaying in his thoughts.

He could do this. He had to do this.

The chair he was working on seemed to glow in the dim light. The wood had a depth to it that made it feel alive, a reflection of his own journey. He picked up his carving tools, but this time, it wasn't just the wood he was shaping.

He was shaping his future, one word at a time.