The bell rang. You walked down the hall. Empty hall. The paint was old. You walked past the classrooms, the the office. You stood in line. faces you knew, ones you didn’t. She stood in the doorway. Ms. Kelly. She had a smile that crinkled at the edges. She was a social studies teacher. The maps on her wall were falling. Old tape. But exciting.
She wait for you in the weekend. The sun high and yellow. The air still. She’d drive you to old places. Temples. Stone houses. She showed you where history was, not just in a book. The quiet stories in the grass and under old stones. You were a kid with a head full of noise, but she showed you how to listen to the quiet. She was a quiet place. A good place.
now the school is gone. she is gone. Just a memory in a quiet hall. A good memory, but one that has a weight. A quiet sadness. a cold room after a warm fire. She taught you how to read the world. now there is just the space where she was. It is a big space. It is empty. And the world keeps talking. And the bell keeps ringing. You feel sad.
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