Work was stressful. Trying to juggle so many things, the behaviour, the paperwork, the class prep, mark the tests, follow this style of teaching but don’t forget to teach these things from the other style, call a parent without knowing if I’ll be spoken to gratefully or as the enemy… and yet the kids make it worthwhile. The kids who ‘get it now’, the kids who want to know how I am and who I am, the kids that join me in wondering why no man has stood up to claim me as his prize, the kids that were scared of numbers but now look forward to my class as their favourite.
But today, I was reminded that I haven’t done all the school expects. And it is not my first reminder, and I am reminded that I have been told already. There is a drop. A silent crash inside.
A few hours later I leave sketchily prepared for tomorrow, leaving earlier than I might usually. I am afraid of being locked in, as I was once before, left standing at the glass door, a siren screaming about my head waiting for someone to notice.
As I take the path away from school, tears dance on my eyelids. I will not let them fall. Not yet.
I have one £4 movie ticket left from my Groupon 5. Half an hour later I am sitting in the middle of an almost empty movie theatre, watching a middling film, while consuming a family sized supermarket trifle and a couple of ready to drink Gins. Tears flow freely whenever the movie is remotely moving.
As the film credits role I leave, ready to face my flatmates, ready to go another round, ready to live again.
Katherine Wansink Writes 