“More than that. I know him very well. He was at my class, like David. Hadn’t he told you about that?”
“Not at all," began my wife, "I knew he attended this school but he hadn’t told me about you. Why hadn’t you, James?”
Although she sounded accusatory, Martha didn’t wait for my answer. I was glad to be free from the torture of telling my unbearable memory with Miss Thunderbolt.
To my great surprise, both women engaged themselves into a very energetic conversation straightaway. As if they had known each other already, ignoring me completely.
“I am surprised he hadn’t mentioned it to me,” complained Martha, mildly bewildered.
“Had he not? That’s quite interesting. Anyway," continued Miss A, "I have been really looking forward to this gathering. I was quite keen on meeting up you both. The moment David walked into my classroom three months ago, I thought little James came back again.”
“I know how you must have felt, Miss Angel," replied Martha. "James and David look so alike. Only their sizes tell them apart. James’s old folks joke David is his daddy's doppelganger. You must be shocked to find the same little boy again in your classroom.”
“Come to think of it... it is not very uncommon to find the familiar faces again and again in this school. I have been teaching here for the past forty years.”
“Forty years?" said my wife in an incredulous tone. "Wow, that’s quite a long time. You must be a legend here.”
“Ah... well, I must be somehow. Pupils came and went. And they saw me still here when they grew up and became parents themselves. I’m pretty sure they would have a lot to talk about me.”
The two women were chatting very lively as though they had been friends for ages. They’ve talked about everything. I mean, literally everything: recent TV shows, politics and even the economy. What else could you talk about with your child’s teacher?
I felt impatient. Not because I had been ignored throughout. I was perfectly happy for being spared the burden of joining that weird conversation. Not with Miss Thunderbolt anyway. But because this meeting was meant to talk about their only son David. Not to enjoy the friendly chat between adults.
Gathering my courage, I slowly cleared my throat and opened my mouth.
“So... sorry... er... for bothering you Miss Thund... ahem... Miss Angel. I understand we... er... have only 10 minutes for this meeting. I am afraid Mr. and Mrs. Johnson may be anxiously waiting outside for their turn to talk to you right now.”
“Oh, you are right, little James… oh dear me, sorry again, Mr. Hendrix," cried the teacher. "We must get to our business. How forgetful I am. Getting old..."
Phew... that's a relief. I feared Miss A might, at any moment, smack me for interrupting her.
"Well, yes, let’s cut to the chase..." began the teacher in a somewhat grave tone. "David has been doing absolutely fine at school. He is friendly to everyone... he is excellent at his study... he is active at the playground too. David is a model student. You should be very proud of him."
Well done, David. That sounds like you... But my reverie was short-lived.
"Only occasionally though," resumed the teacher, "he became too excited and distracted to calm down while he was supposed to concentrate on his work. You don’t, however, need to worry about this. Many boys of that age are fairly similar and I’m sure David will soon settle down.”
“He sounds exactly like his dad, doesn’t he?” Martha chimed in good-naturedly.
“Now, you mentioned it, Mrs. Hendrix, yes, David is exactly like his dad. Little James... oh sorry again... Mr. Hendrix was a model student too when he was here. And like David, he was sometimes distracted and excited about anything that caught his attention. Did you know that James had once been in a fight with…”
Oh, NOT AGAIN!
The two women started their never-ending gossips again while I was stuck in this ever-expanding hole I didn’t wish to fall into and didn’t know how to get out.
The meeting turned out to be not as dreadful as I feared it would be. Still, things were going into the totally wrong direction. God help me! I want to get out of here.
