Lessons in Love. Belinda Missen
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far, so good.
When the meeting was over, I scuttled for my office, avoiding getting caught up in too much chatter. I was full of the type of nervous energy that either propelled you forward or paralysed you if you thought about it too much. I wanted to get moving before it turned into the latter.
Returning to primary school all these years later, it was an Alice in Wonderland moment to realise how small the furniture looked. Chairs that once felt like thrones now barely grazed my knees. My eyes caught spines of books I recognised and, besides the occasional hello from teachers who used the library as a thoroughfare, it was quiet and calm. It felt right; peaceful, even.
I switched on the office light, felt around the computer for the on switch, and wondered exactly where the hell I was supposed to begin. It was all well and good to have the lofty notion of returning to the classroom until I had to actually do some work. The not knowing was no better than bobbing about at sea, life jacket on, but nothing in sight but bright blue horizon.
‘How are you feeling? Ready?’ Phil appeared in the doorway, a bunch of well-worn clipboards clasped to his chest.
I took a deep breath, and felt a quiver climbing my spine again. ‘I think so? I was just planning on cleaning a bit before I got stuck into things.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Cath was feverishly excited about getting out of here. I hoped she might stay until the end of the year for handover, but nothing was convincing her.’ His eyes scanned the room quickly. ‘No idea why.’ He winked. ‘Now, we don’t have your password yet. Matt in IT will get you sorted at some stage today, so let’s get you introduced to everyone while we wait. Thankfully, Cath was a dab hand at record-keeping, so you should be able to check back through her stuff and work it all out easily. She’s organised everything for the Book Fair. I think that’s the only big thing on your calendar. All you’ll need to do is take delivery of the books and sort the displays out … oh, and deal with the mess on the day.’
To be fair, if I were Cathy, I’d take the tropical holiday over teaching the new girl, too. One of the positives of my redundancy was escaping that responsibility of handover altogether. I was out the front door so quickly I only had time to collect a few scant personal belongings and my coffee cup. It looked like Cathy had the same idea. Clever girl.
Phil and I had been in contact in the last few weeks, emails pinging back and forth, as he detailed the first few weeks of term, so I felt confident I wasn’t completely in the deep end. I’d done the teaching gig before. Hopefully everyone’s bike-riding metaphor was right, otherwise I’d be heading straight into a prickly bush of mistakes and mayhem.
Those exchanges pulled back the curtain of the theatre production. As a student, you don’t think of nearly half the things that need to happen in the education system. You see work and deadlines, but you don’t see the jigsaw puzzle of trying to get all your ducks in a row, teaching what needs to be taught, while still maintaining some semblance of fun. It was a challenge, but one that I’d always loved.
With blank paper, a pen, a heart full of hope, and a bladder full of coffee, I followed Phil down hallways, where we mused over murals, both the old and new, and reminisced over my years as a pupil. Things were simpler then, he explained, easier to handle with what felt like less rules and red tape.
We slipped into each of the classrooms, shook hands and mingled, until I had met almost everyone I could. Random jottings quickly filled my notepad, requests for films, documentaries, books, and stationery orders. Despite my brain feeling a little bogged down by the unrelenting pace, it was great to be useful again.
‘Ruddy hell, Ellie Manning!’
Our final stop for the day was the Grade Six block, where I froze at the sight of a familiar face. ‘Mick?’
Michael Buckley was arguably the best teacher I ever had. Big call considering the number of classes I’d taken in my time. In my final year of primary school, he was maths mad and perpetually grumpy, but made all of us feel important. Often, he would stay late to chat with someone who was slower to leave class or looking a little more anxious than usual. At one point, he called my dad to voice his concerns that I was ‘less rambunctious than usual’.
As it turned out, having a cold would do that to me.
I peered around my old classroom in amazement as he urged me to follow him. Tables and chairs formed a ring in the centre of the room. Thoughts and plans had been scribbled on the whiteboard and crossed out again. Last term’s artwork dangled from ceiling tiles and clung to windows.
Phil took his leave as we sat on the ledge of a table facing the centre of the room. I was more than capable, he reasoned, and I didn’t disagree. Mick was a familiar face. I had this.
‘What on earth possessed you to come back here?’ he asked. ‘Returning for family?’
‘I heard you still made a great coffee,’ I teased. I don’t know that I’d ever seen him without a coffee cup in hand, either. ‘Plus, I thought you could do with checking in on.’
‘See, the coffee has fallen to Marcus now.’
‘Ah.’ I turned towards where Mick’s attention was held at the back of the room, three men scuttling at the realisation they’d been caught spying. It was a Monty Python sketch as they bumped, shuffled, and passed paperwork to each other like synchronised jugglers. Marcus crossed the glass-windowed office, mug to his mouth and watching from the corner of his eye. Busted.
‘Clowns, the lot of them,’ Mick said quietly. ‘And, if I point at them just so, they’ll think I’m talking about them. Egotistical little shits.’
I pulled the folder up over my face and laughed loud and free.
‘I’m sorry I missed the meeting this morning.’ Mick elbowed me gently. ‘I saw your name on the roster but wasn’t sure if it was you, or if someone by the same name just felt like orbiting the area for a while.’
‘Surprise.’ I grinned, throwing my arms out like P. T. Barnum on a slow morning, then scrambling to pick up a packet of crayons that tumbled from my hands and scattered to the winds. ‘How have you been?’
Mick gave a small shrug. ‘You know, just slogging around here, keeping kids out of trouble.’ He slipped from the table and nodded towards the office. ‘Speaking of trouble, come with me.’
I followed him into the small office, which looked like it had been used by the same four men for a few years. It had that old, comfortable look and smell that screamed ‘Keep Out: Boys Only’. Desks were well settled into, a coffee machine had its own small altar in the corner, and family photos lined desks and noticeboards.
‘Ellie, these gentlemen here – and I use the term ‘gentlemen’ loosely – are Tony, Roger, and Marcus.’
‘Hello.’ I gave a tiny wave at the three smiling faces, all seated around one desk in the middle of the room. One by one, they stood, introduced themselves again, and shook my hand. Roger was quick and jangly, much like his bony arms. Tony was limp and damp and looked like he needed to pat down his forehead with a handkerchief before heading back into battle. Marcus, despite being warm and solid, left me with the distinct impression I was being sized up. Did everything have to be a competition? I avoided his continued gaze and turned my attention at the others. ‘I’m just here to meet and greet and take requests.’
‘Kicking ass and taking names,’ Tony tittered.
‘Bingo.’ I set my belongings on the table and watched as they shuffled through papers and pulled out ready-made lists. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d stocked up on requests in anticipation of slipping things past the new girl.
‘How has today been for you?’ Mick glanced up from his seat.
‘I’m … yeah, just taking it all in again.’ I pushed myself up on the balls of my feet. ‘It’s making me vastly aware of the years that have passed, and I’m suddenly feeling rather … inferior.’
‘Try being me,’