Adam Patric Miller: Passing Through The Intersection

At one hundred and thirty, forty, or more, I will have reached the stage where every dot and every stroke I paint will be alive. ––Hokusai

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The last time you saw your student, the student who died, you drove on High Street in Columbus, Ohio. It was just past the intersection, he stood there, as real as these words, where one road heads you west over the Olentangy River, and the other south, into the city.

It made no sense to see him. He wore the leather coat he used to wear, an 8-ball on the back. Maybe this happens when you don’t acknowledge death.

Another student made a parting gift of a painting: an 8-ball split in half, apple on the inside. At the center of the painting brown seeds.

Your students write about the painting. The 8-ball is the last ball in; it ends the game. It is black. The 8-ball is man-made. The apple is found in nature. It is the forbidden fruit. The number 8 curves, and if you pull it slightly from the top, lay it to rest on its side you, have a sign for infinity.

In a dream you talk to your dead student. He says he graduated. You share a beer. He says “Don’t worry.”

During an argument in class Taneisha says, He jus mad cuz he got a’ apple-head.

In your new suburban school, you tell a story. A woman got on the interstate, wrong direction, a head-on collision with three of your old students. You’ll tell your new students about Snacks, what his real name was, who was in the back seat, what the crash took from him, about the poem he shaped into a mouth. He named it The Mouth of Madness.

The apple you brought to school this morning is too big. It’s a Fuji apple. You have to unhinge your jaw like a snake to eat it. You should have cut it into sections before you left home. The other day, you brought another one in. A colleague said, Adam, that apple is as big as a baby’s head.

I want to live to be one hundred and fifty years old, so I can write these words correctly.

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Copyright 2025 Adam Patric Miller

Adam Patric Miller has taught high school for 25 years in three states and currently teaches in St. Louis. He is the author of the book A Greater Monster, a collection of essays selected by Phillip Lopate to win the Autumn House Press Nonfiction Prize. He’s won a Pushcart Prize and a Notable Essay Selection in The Best American Essay Series. His op-eds have appeared nationally in over 200 media outlets.