I stood on the side of the road waiting for the sign to let me cross the streets, wearing my big yellow rain boots and black floral dress, people were glancing at my outfit with surprise. I looked a weird kind of weird. As I took in their glances, I pictured her, like she was […]
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A Glimpse Into The Past

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I stood on the side of the road waiting for the sign to let me cross the streets, wearing my big yellow rain boots and black floral dress, people were glancing at my outfit with surprise. I looked a weird kind of weird.

As I took in their glances, I pictured her, like she was back in the day, standing in class in her long coloured pencil skirt, a messy low bun, and a dark cardigan. Bahia was her name, she was my middle school French teacher.

Why was I thinking of her, on this rainy cold December day, I had no idea. Probably because I was getting the same reaction she incited in people, I remember her clearly. She wore thin reading glasses and always pronounced words with care, in a very meticulous french accent. I always had the impression she was a bit queer, I never really got in touch with her though, on a level other than her being my teacher, I wasn’t quite chatty back in the day, I was the secluded introvert adolescent, who got through the day with minimal contact, and only needed conversations.

I still don’t know why her picture was consuming my thoughts, I wonder if she still have those skirts till now.

I feel overwhelmed.

I turn left.

I didn’t consider her as┬áthe person that left a mark on people, someone I would still remember after 15 years, but then she was there, in my mind, still wearing that skirt, holding the grammar book, going all like “je ne sais quoi” attitude. She was a free soul, she didn’t care how we looked at her, she was so calm, poised.

She NEVER let her hair down, not once.

I missed the turn on that street! I look down at my boots, they’re yellow, and I look like a walking festival. Her hair was red, a bit brighter than the shade I’m rocking at the moment. She too had locks.

My mind is overflowing with thoughts and memories of the past, so random they sneak back into my reality, with no occasion, without permission.

Do we all become like that? Like ghosts … in someone’s mind … gradually fading … fading … until finally … one day … we just disappear … drift into nothingness… But what if we don’t? what if we, 15 years later, come back into someone’s mind? that someone who never thought that much of us? come back in a clear picture, never-fading, never losing its touch?! what if we learn that one look, one long pencil skirt, could affect someone’s life forever?

 

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