After ten years

by Amber Wright.

Ten years after becoming a trusted mentor for a younger student and having to part ways when school ends.  The mentor gets a surprise knock at the door.

Jack looked down at me. I could see his eyes watering as he frowned and straightened his oversized puffer jacket in a failed attempt to maintain his “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. The past five years had flown by and this date was forever impending in our minds. However it had come around quicker than either of us had expected. I was first introduced to Jack when I was 14, he was 12. It was safe to say my high school experience did not reflect the A* grade student path I eventually took, however despite this the staff at my school, one way or another, drew the conclusion Jack needed a mentor and I was the person they felt fit the role. I often question why they chose me. I was hardly a model student myself but maybe it was to help me as much as it was to help him. I always expected saying goodbye would be difficult. When is it easy? But this was painful. There was still so much I needed to say to him, to advise him on. If I could carry him around in my cardigan pocket then I would. But there would never be enough time on this earth for him to hear it all. There were only so many times I could guilt trip him into not smoking or shout at him for being rude to teachers, only so many times I could pray that he took my word for things. He could never understand that I only wanted the absolute best for him. Everybody did. I gave him a watery smile and one last hug as the obnoxious school bell rang loudly throughout the empty halls. I silently wondered to myself how many Tuesday lunchtimes I must have spent here with him. I failed to wrap my head around the fact that this was the final one…

I fumbled around with the multitude of keys in my pocket, hands numb from the cold. Finally, I managed to jam the house key into the industrial metal lock as I threw myself against the swollen door. I had been itching to get home since I arrived at work to the realisation I had stupidly left my phone on the kitchen countertop in my daily rush to get out the door in the mornings. I rarely use my phone during my working hours, however having it with me was almost like a security blanket. I dropped my oversized handbag in the porch as I kicked off my ankle boots and made my way to the kitchen to make myself my third, and definitely not final, coffee of that day. The outdated machine steamed and whistled, the soothing sound nearly clouding my thoughts, making me forget about my mobile sitting across the room. 364 unread emails, 12 unread texts, 3 unread snapchats, 4 missed calls. 4 missed calls? My eyes darted around the screen in sheer confusion as I racked my brain for reasons someone would call me from an unknown private number. My gut instinct was to ignore it. Probably a scam. Probably.

I sank back further into my plush three piece suite as I let my eyes slowly shut as the TV continued to whir in the background, the sound bringing me every so often back into consciousness. Exhaustion washing over me in waves. A timid knock. I felt myself drifting off into sleep. A bell. I turned my head slightly. Another knock, this time with more urgency. Wait. The front door. My eyes darted to the small clock sat on the mantle. 9:30pm. I squinted as I forced myself to stand, barely aware of my surroundings as I stumbled to the front door. Composure seemed harder to gain after nine o’clock on a Friday evening. Two policemen and a police woman stood staring at me with wide eyes as I cautiously opened the front door. Before I could grasp what was happening they began to speak, each of their words washing over me one by one. I didn’t understand. 3:30pm. His whole existence filled with his own life fighting against him. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it could’ve been prevented. Maybe I could’ve prevented it. Maybe he had no one. He did have no one. Not no one. Just me. Ten years ago, a Tuesday lunchtime. The bell went and so did I.