The Class

It had been my old friend Louise who had persuaded me to take the class. Although at first unsure whether the experience would be enjoyable, it didn’t take me long to decide. Tuesday morning soon arrived and I found myself walking down the dreary streets trying to follow the scrawled directions on the crinkled paper clenched between my fingers. I couldn’t remember how I could have forgotten where it was. I couldn’t remember how I’d forgotten my memory.

 It was a most unwelcoming setting. Tall brass gates leered at me as I entered the grounds not knowing if I wanted to turn back. Not knowing if I could. The building was large, its towers of grey bricks contrasted grotesquely against the blue skies, while I drifted towards the entrance. My feet led me without my brain sending any signal. I did not need to think about where I was going. My memories flooded back into my mind in a flash.

      Harsh laughs. Glinting teeth.  A knock to the head. Pointing. Staring. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t. He couldn’t. I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t.

 The future wasn’t all that better. Average grades, a job at the old post office.... wrinkles. I make myself laugh. The seat pulled out in front of me and down I sat. A wide eyed woman with blonde hair, complete with grey roots, stood casually in front of me. The teacher.

    Awful behaviour. Bad attitude. Doesn’t seem to care about the work. Unwilling to try hard. Won’t get anywhere. Nowhere.

 “Today we will start with the basics.” she spoke, tapping the board with her pen, “I am Mrs Florentine; Mr Grimsby is stuck in traffic so I will be teaching you today.” Thank god. My sudden flash of memory told me that Mr Grimsby wouldn’t be the most pleasurable person to be of acquaintance to.

 Mrs Florentine was writing things now. My pen darted across my paper enthusiastically taking notes. I wasn’t sure what the rest of the class was doing. I gazed around counting, five women and two men. None of whom I recognised.

“Everyone knows who you are. ”

I watched for a while. Three of the girls were huddled in the corner, whispering together, their eyes shooting across the room ready to fall on their next victim. The two boys sat apart, tapping their pens onto the paper, wracking their brains. One girl sat near them twirling her hair and gazing into space, her paintbrush gripped tightly in the palm of her hand. The last girl sat at the back staring coldly, blindly, at the ornament we were meant to be sketching. Her thick black hair fell over her face, shading her watery eyes.

*You won’t be able to hide.”

The clock ticked as I sketched hopelessly, trying to make the lines on my page resemble the ornament before me. Why did I bother? My already drifting concentration was even more disturbed by the entry of a latecomer. The wooden doors eased open with a creak as a slouched figure entered.

“You’re always going to be fat and ugly.” He told me -Jordan Hansen.

The small man tottered in, his shaky hand firmly gripping onto his walking stick. “Take a seat.” Mrs Florentine demanded. The man showed no recognition of hearing her voice, his eyes simply trailed along the floor. He took a seat to my left and finally looked up with sunken eyes, from beneath a mountain of prematurely grey tousled hair. “Good afternoon Mr Hansen.”

Jordan Hansen.

Class dismissed.