Silence

It was Going Well

It was going well, my classroom was tidy and perfectly finished; the panelling unmarked by graffiti.  Everyone embraced the work I set them with vigorous enthusiasm and I almost smiled with pleasure when someone put their hand up to answer questions.  Then, "Yes Matthew you're quite correct ..." I was saying as the classroom door unclosed itself revealing a gap filled with yawning blackness, my throat constricted, and I was suddenly nervous all over again. 

"Hello?"

I half whispered.  No one replied.

"Miss?"  Matthew, a slight boy of thirteen, questioned fearfully.  But I was frozen.  I barely blinked as I stared transfixed at the open door.  thump, thump, crash.  The noise brought me back from my daze and I realized my hand was covered in blood.  My mouth opened to scream, I turned my head to look at my class as they gazed back at me in horror.The glass I has been holding lay shattered on my desk.  My eyes drifted back to the door as the boy stepped through, walked to a free desk at the back of the room and sat down seemingly oblivious to all the action.

"Don't worry, s-silly me." I stuttered pathetically.  What had come over me? I internally shivered as  stepped on cracking glass.  The students made as if to go and I hastily snapped, "No! I – I will clean up this mess, carry on, I am ever so sorry!"

I needed to stop.  Breathe.  Think.

Carefully, ever so carefully, I swept up the glass using the identified dustpan and brush under the cupboards.  Wrapping my hand with a bandage from the classroom first aid kit, I acknowledged the class with what I hoped was a smile.  This, thankfully, seemed to calm the growing storm of anxiety as they continued with their work.  The late boy just sat there.  Staring straight ahead.  His presence seemed ghostly ... I caught myself thinking before I mentally slapped myself and tasted blood from my bitten lip.  My first day teaching and I already wanted, no, needed to go home.

Yet for my hundredth time today I grasped at an attempt to calm down and sat down ready to resume teaching.  I only stole a glance at the boy once.  I whipped my head away.  Twice.  I turned to the board.  The bell finally rang and I dismissed the class before slumping down into my chair and putting my head into my hands.

My eyes slowly pulled themselves back from the sticky glue of tiredness as a finger brushed my back.

"What?"

I started- I had a free period according to my timetable. I shivered as the pressure in my back increased. Without another rational thought, I flew round to face the silent figure that glanced up from his hood. It was the boy. His mouth split open in a taunting smile, as he pointed to the register. I bit my lip, before looking directly at him and stiffly replying,

"Yes, I know. You were  late. Next time arrive on time or even earlier if you want your first impression to improve!"

Pleased with my efficient disapproval, I watched the boy slouch and swaggered out the door.

"Wait!" I called. He stopped; turned.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" I asked, wanting him to know I was in charge. (Despite  what my first impression implied). Glancing at me, he made a gesture with his hands, before pointing at his lips. My initial conclusion was confusion. What was he trying to say? Before I realised- he couldn't speak. Was he deaf? He seemed to realise my expression, because he pointed to his ears and nodded. He then gestured at his mouth and shook his head. My lips pated in an 'o' to say something, but he had already disappeared. In silence.

I strolled home, my discovery still pounding inside my head. I shivered as wind whipped across my face like a back-handed slap. Not again. \The memories I had spent weeks repressing rose up and I could smell the sweat dripping down my face. I had recently broke up with my boyfriend. My possessive, abusive EX boyfriend. This had forced me to strike out on my own. The little amount my parents offered didn't help as they were severely sick in a nursing home. I was on my own, and the rent didn't pay itself. At least, that was what my landlady constantly assures me.  Tightening my coat around my body, I rang the buzzer for the second floor lift. It trundled down depressingly slowly.

Arriving at my apartment, I threw my bag down onto the sagging couch, before kicking off my shoes and collapsing onto my bed. Work again tomorrow. A definitely not excited groan, escaped my lips.