Murmurs Between Desks

Today marks Nelson Mandela's passing in 2013.

We may not leave echoes in history the way he did, but we CAN resonate.

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Prologue

A normal school morning, sunlight warming an already too-warm classroom - but it had the quiet promise that even small moments are reasons.

For those who ask, "Why do this?"

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"Bye, Miss Kwek...no, bye Mummy." The little 7-year-old girl offered a little hand swap as she bade goodbye and traversed the corridor.

The classroom's silence wrapped around me as she left. Nothing but scattered papers and desk chairs.

I sighed. I'd have to spend an hour pushing them in and sweeping--the kids had to rush home for lunch.

Miss Kwek the SuperMum.

Or SuperTeach.

And honestly...I didn't know if the little girls realised that anymore.

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My first teaching assignment. This music and English teacher offered little ditties.

I taught them occupations with Ernie's "Who Are The People in the Neighbourhood."

But...their attention waned, as it often did for seven-year-olds after the first half-hour of breathing.

Unmarked worksheets stared at me from a basket, berating me for neglect.

The empty classroom smelled of faded whiteboard markers. Ernie's face stared at me from a chart on an easel.

Blank.

Wondering if the constant effort to plan lessons was worth the "Mummy"- or if they'd even remembered him after the song.

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As I put marked exercise books on a bookshelf, my hand met a box with a bump.

I hadn't noticed it before.

An envelope reared an edge from its corner.

Beckoning.

I drew a breath, my fingers lingering over the edge --

And dropped it again.

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I picked the box, letting the exercise books cascade onto the floor with a thump.

A printed letter, the pristine white paper waiting patiently. Its edges were starting to curl, but a few minutes wouldn't make a difference.

After those minutes were finally over, I pried the envelope open.

Addressed to me.

"Dear Teacher,

"I like Ernie, and Who Are the People In Your Neighbourhood. But I like the way you sing it. You sound like my Grandma. She had a great voice. She died last year. She used to bring me to school."

A watermark.

I was about to create a few - but not the factory sort.

"Thanks for the song. I watch Sesame Street every afternoon now. My English has improved. Marilyn."

So it had.

For all time.

I sat at the desk, a quiet smile starting to stretch across my face.

One that needed Face Yoga.

In case of premature sagging.

There was a reason for Mummy after all.

Despite how dog-tired she was.

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"Mummy" dropped the letter back into the box cautiously -

Its pulse was quickening.

The classroom still had a distinct marker odour - but it teased my nostrils.

It didn't punch.

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I swept the floor, erased the whiteboard -

And lifted the easel.

Ernie.

And his neighbourhood.

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Mummy had a place in it.

Though her legs were a little tired from walking around.

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Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI Tags are coincidental.

A little song some of us may remember.

For Mikeydred's December Prompt

Original Purpose-Driven Microfiction by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.