The Shades of Spring

Feeling for a string to tie with

For days afterward, Sidra managed to sail smoothly between home, school and library. She didn't catch any blacksheep nor find herself in the midst of unwelcome drama.

Sidra tossed and turned in bed, mulling over the new problem that had cropped up in her class. Unable to draw a fair conclusion, she decided to speak to her mother about it.

Sidra found Amanah in the backyard, bareheaded under the dewy sky,
"Ma, I need to ask you something."

Amanah waved to a spot next to her, scrolling through the FB feed. "Anyone troubling you at school?"

"Not exactly. First listen, " she plopped down and continued, "There's this boy called Hammad. In my class. But he's eight. Failed twice, apparently. So anyway, he's a strange fellow, Ma. He is on antidepressants and undergoes counseling. And comes from a broken family. Problem is, he is too violent and stubborn."

"How violent?"

"In my first week, he almost pushed his classmate out of a third floor window because he didn't show his answers."

"That's bad," Amanah agreed and set aside the phone.

"So yeah. When the old teacher, Hafsa, confronted him, he just.....he laid down in the corridor and closed his eyes. Try as we may, he didn't budge. I was shocked. Then the Headmistress came and tried to coax him and finally she simply sent us back and ordered a prefect to watch him till he willingly moved," Sidra said miserably. "Now Hafsa is not there, the assistant is always absent and I just can't handle him, Ma. He's a nutcase....sort of."

Amanah frowned at her daughter, "You're a teacher now Sidra, so speak like one. Don't call him a nutcase. Did you find out why he's like that?"

"Mentally unstable. But what business does the school have keeping him among normal students?" she defended.

"Okay. So what do the other teachers do about him?"

"They ignore him. Let him to whatever he wants. Don't make him do schoolwork. He's like a wall. One that frequently hits without a reason, though."

Amanah weighed her words before voicing them.
"I think the teachers are wrong. Because," she started to reason with her daughter.

The message reached Sidra loud and clear, opening a new connection to a part of her childhood that she had buried in distaste. At first she was hesitant to go down that road, unsure of her capacity to see it through. But her mother's words changed her perspective on Hammad, and though she didn't know it then, became a glittering totem that guided her decisions in the future.
By the time she went to bed, she was resolved to give it a shot; far as it may be.

Maybe, she supposed, it won't actually work. But if I never try, I'll never know.

__________

The showers petered away and the sun peeked out from her hiding, bathing the library in an ethereal shade of gold. Like all other evenings, the third floor began its slow and steady filling.
Kevin found Sidra restocking a self help shelf.

"Are you visiting the book fair this weekend?"

Sidra turned to Kevin, "No. Why do you ask?"

"There's a book I need to pick. But the Professor isn't giving me the day off."

"Too bad, Kevin. I really wish I could help, but I won't be going. Not this time. Sorry."

"It's okay. I'll ask someone else."

She went back to her work, when Hafsa wandered over with a cart full of books. "The head librarian wants to see you."

Sidra grimaced, "Why don't you just call him Peter?"

"I hate him. I hate that name. Just go before he chews off your head."

Sidra made her way into the glass office down in the ground floor, rapped on the door and entered.
"Yes, Mr Heckler?"

"Jameel. Good. I've noticed your attention to detail," he watched for a reaction, getting none as usual, he continued, "I want to reopen the archives for the public. The section has been lying dormant for years now. But with the History Month coming up, I've got so many requests from schools and universities to use the resources. Our archives are in a miserable state, as you know. So, I'm dispatching a staff team to get the place back to work and ready to open for the public. I need you to spearhead the task."
She nodded and remained silent.

"I'm putting you in charge of the team, it's going to be tough work, arranging and sorting resources tracing a timeline of over a hundred years, but I really need this up and going. I need you to take inventory and plan the layout. All the necessary labour will be at your disposal. I've picked a core team of seven, you can pick another seven of your choosing. But I'll warn you, this is not going to be easy. You'll have to put in extra hours."

A sudden knot formed in her stomach at the thought of schoolwork. As if reading her mind, Peter added, "I know you have another job and I swear I wouldn't be asking of you if it weren't crucial that you be present. The whole team will be paid for OT."

She weighed the pros and cons, then concluded trust in the workplace would eventually trump the few sleepless nights to juggle the work. She consented and obtained the paper work, then set off to assemble the team in the makeshift office in backroom.
She had a deadline two months out.

__________

Her already packed schedule became tighter in the following days. She was pushing herself beyond her limits; testing the border between work and health. Her mother wasn't happy, but then, she was never happy with her daughter working two jobs.
"Making ends meet is one thing. But losing your health is losing everything."

Between work and home, she barely had time to live her life. Soon, it became routine to sleep less and work more, puzzling over and reorganising the work life she had chosen.

Hammad was on a whole new level of detachment the moment he sensed help afoot. But Sidra did her best to sit with him quietly, appearing almost unaware of his probing his eyes. She didn't do anything. She didn't initiate conversation. She just sat with him at the back of the class and conducted her lesson without speaking to him. The silent arrangement spanned weeks. Sitting side by side in companionable silence during free time and her free periods until he was comfortable with her presence. She knew any drastic action would result in him shutting her out before she had the chance to knock on the door.
One day, he picked a pencil and began working one easy sum. The next day he scooted a little closer to look at her marking the books.

Slow progress was still progress. The other teachers pitied Sidra, foreseeing a near future where she'll give up like they all had and ignore the boy. But she held on; recalling the days her own teachers had called a crazy child and asked for her to expelled. She never quite understood what irked them about her. She was nervous and homesick and unhealthily shy. She was also a kindergartner back then.