The Jamaica Observer has a weekly literary arts supplement known as 'Bookends'. This is a recap of part of my work, a short piece of fiction which was featured in the publication a good while back. I haven't blogged in a bit so enjoy!
"The Teacher"
There they sat in the classroom, a mixed bunch of boys and girls. They were all outcasts of the free public education system. For better or worse, these students had become a part of the island’s elite private school education cluster. They had come together as a group under diverse circumstances but they were not complaining. Their parents had paid a considerable sum of money each term for the privilege and the right for them to be here. And the children knew this.
The students sat expressionless. They looked at each other, conscious of a common bond. They were thinking that they would rather be anywhere but here. They searched their thoughts constantly for a reason, any reason, to avoid learning. They wondered how they could get this message across to their parents, to the teacher, to the proponents of the system. And the teacher knew this. Acknowledging hands raised in the air, she grew accustomed to the standard response. ‘Please, Miss’, so often was the familiar cry, ‘Can we be excused?’
The teacher stood in the classroom facing the children. She needed no excuse for being present. She was underpaid but surprisingly, unlike her pupils, she wanted to be here. She knew her subject well, and somehow she had to get these children to learn. She had to make it an experience, let them know that it was for their own good. They didn’t realise it now but in time to come they would reflect on these school days and wish for an encore. They would long for this time that they spent as students, the time when they had a choice. She searched the room looking through half-closed eyes, glancing on no one in particular. With wide-opened eyes the children noticed and were glad for the attention. Almost in unison, several boys and girls raised their hands in the air. ‘We have finished, Miss,’ they cried, ‘Can we be excused?’
Eventually the students were put to the test. There was no turning back; they graduated into the real world.
Once again the teacher stood in the classroom, this time facing a new batch of children. For a moment, but only just for a moment, she turned her back on them as she could not help but wonder what had become of her young charges dismissed from long ago. Many questions popped into her mind. She wished she could ask how they had fared with the knowledge they had gained. She wanted to say something to them. She needed to talk to each and every one, to find out whether they had moved on.
The graduates thought of the teacher, too. On their own, they searched for a meaningful start to their working life. Sometimes, but sometimes only, they wondered what the teacher would say if she could see them now. They remembered how well she had taught those crucial lessons of long ago. Now they understood the purpose of her instruction. But what could they say to the teacher? They couldn’t think of a way to tell her what they knew in their hearts, that somehow it all made sense now. They were just beginning to learn. They had no more excuses.
