Teacher’s Pet
A buttoned-down white shirt, navy pleated skirt and black loafer. That was our uniform. Some looked great in it; some seem to disappear. Back in those days, I did not pay too much attention. I suspect I fall somewhere in the middle, not an incredible beauty, neither the most popular nor the most ostracized.
If the memory is a bit hazy, it’s because it was not a life-changing moment. It is a memory that somehow surfaces and waves at me from the misty past. I have yet to connect this memory to any particular emotion.
The recess bell had just rung. Lily and I were about to join the other students in the field. We passed by Mr. Larry's desk. We had just gotten our quizzes back, and we both scored the highest mark in the class. Mr. Larry stopped us on our way out, gently said, "Can you guys come and massage my shoulders for me?"
What an honour to be close to the teacher? We each took one side, rhythmically, our fists percussed his broad shoulders. Standing over him, I can see the lines of his well-combed hair. I watched the other kids out in the sun and wished I did not have to share this duty with Lily. This means Mr. Larry doesn't think I was the best student, but only equally as good as Lily. Yes, we were best friends, but competition made up part of our friendship.
That evening when I got home, I told mom what had happened, "I got the highest score, and Mr. Larry asked me to massage his shoulders. I must be his favourite." Quickly, under my breath, I added, "Well, Lily was there too." Mom asked me what mark Lily got, I told her. "Well, you are not the first in the class yet." She said.
The second day in school, I wondered to Lily, "you think Mr. Larry would ask us to massage him again?" Lily turned the corners of her mouth and said, "my mom told me to not do that again if Mr. Larry ever asked me."
"Why?"
"I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders.
Well, all the better for me. I thought then I would be his only favourite student.
Mr. Larry never asked us to massage him again, and we soon forgot about this. Lily and I continued our friendly competition until middle school took us into different school districts.
The recent #MeToo movement somehow brought this memory back. Often fleeting, I do not know what to make of it. It certainly was not traumatic. I did not feel violated or indignant. It is hard to understand Mr. Larry's motives. Back then, our parents told us to obey our teachers. During that era, it could have easily been a female teacher who asked us to do her this favour. If Mr. Larry had other motives, it certainly was apparent for the remainder of our year.
We had wanted to attend this welcoming reception at the embassy. Mom was not able to go, so I was to accompany dad. Social events like this tend to have fancy canapes that I don't usually see. I just knew someone important was visiting, and dad was part of the welcoming committee. Staying out of everyone’s way I watched these suited adults setting up and going over the reception details. Someone said, "we need to present flowers when he arrives."
"We need pretty young girls to present the flowers."
Suddenly, the attention was on me. I realized I was the only teenager in this reception hall. Everyone else was my parents' age. A middle-aged lady thrusted a bouquet into my arms.
"Just hand this to him when he arrives."
I glanced in dad's direction. He had the same dad expression as always- don’t make him lose face.
The adults soon formed two lines sandwiching the red carpet. I was placed at the front, making it easier to hand out the bouquet. I recall the camera light flashing as I slowly handed over the flowers so they could take more pictures for the headlines to be sifted through later. Then it was over.
Reflecting on this incident, I now realize how belittling it was. Sure, there was no intentional harm. The middle-aged lady who singled me out likely thought she was complimenting my looks by putting me in the spotlight. It was a fleeting moment of appearance, meant to accompany the flowers for a photo opportunity with an influential societal figure—a bouquet of flowers that will gradually wilt and be tossed aside once its beauty begins to fade.
As she stood there in the alley, her heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Turning her head towards the bum, she noticed that he had produced another coin in his palm, its silver surface seemingly imbued with secrets and possibilities. He nodded and tossed it towards her. She caught it this time, and with one swift motion, she hurled it towards the brick wall.
The air seemed to ripple as the coin connected with the wall, and the world around her wavered for a split second. But when her surroundings stabilized, she returned to her luxurious penthouse apartment. The scent of opulence filled the air, and the glittering cityscape lay before her.