Drew

A flash fiction I wrote from the real life experience of one of my great teachers.

                There were many times when I decided that I had not received a fair share of life. Whenever I entered the school as a student teacher, an overwhelming sense of fatigue hit me. Children of various ages were running about and they hardly listened to my commands, let alone most of my teaching.

                One of my classes was special. Like all other classes, this class had unique individuals that I attempted to inspire and shape. Many of them paid me no heed, testing the limits of what I suspected to be the guidelines of a student teacher. But there was one student that always listened, because that was all he could do.

                Drew was blind. The lessons I taught to the class were different, made especially for him. Everything was oral, spoken as to allow Drew to type away at his Braille. He was ahead academically of the other students, something I hadn’t expected. As the year progressed I realized that although his grades were high, his place in society was low. His mind was that of someone in grade six, nothing like his peers in grade nine. But he worked hard, and that was all that mattered.

                The children made fun of Drew, making his life difficult, if not impossible. Often times he would come after class and ask me for simple things that I knew meant so much more to him. He would ask to feel a book, one that only held blank pages in the eyes of Drew. At times he asked to travel the classroom after hours, feeling each shelf and desk with his hands until he was satisfied. It meant so much to him so I spent my hours after school guiding him to touch and hold.

                On the last day, Drew came in as usual with his cane. I had been packing my things, happy and sad that my year of learning and teaching was done.

                “Miss, I really enjoyed learning from you,” he had said with a faint smile and glazed eyes.

                “Thank you, I enjoyed having you as a student.”

                “Can I remember you?” The question was so sudden and strange that I had trouble understanding what he meant at first.

                “Oh, yes, you can remember me,” I stammered.

                “No! I mean, can I remember you?”

I repeated the same words as before, if not stammering more. Drew laughed at me and held out his hands. “Can I remember your face? I asked my friends what you looked like and they said you were very pretty.”

                I understood immediately and allowed Drew to touch my face. He was slow and careful as to not touch my eyes. Staring into his face, I memorized his as well. I etched it into my mind and told myself to never forget such a wonderful child.

                When he was finished, he stood up and smiled. “Now I will remember what ‘pretty’ looks like.” And he walked out as I stood and let the tears flow.