Diary, 12January
This morning I nearly overslept for work. The thought of leaving my cosy nest and pulling the warm blanket off my legs made me want to stay in bed forever. I wrapped the duvet right up to my chin and, like a child, waited for the alarm to ring. Perhaps, deep down, I imagined Mum in the kitchen, frying fragrant raisin scones or cooking chicken patties, and that shed soon call me down for breakfast.
Even though I turned thirtyfive this year, the feeling was the same. Who hasnt wanted, now and then, to be the cherished child whos still darled by Mum?
The alarm, however, betrayed me and stayed silent.
Emma, my wife, had already been up, getting our son Sam ready for nursery and our little Lily for school.
Why didnt you wake me? I asked her, a hint of hurt in my voice, instead of the usual kiss.
You have an alarm, dont you? she replied. Didnt it go off? You always get up with it. I thought youd changed your timetable again, so I didnt want to disturb you and tried to do the housework as quietly as possible.
I dressed in a rush, declined the breakfast shed offeredno time, I said, I was already late. All your fault, dear, I muttered, as she closed the front door behind me.
In the hallway I caught the tail end of her words, spoken to herself:
He always does it this waysleeps in, and Im the one to blame. He never kisses me goodbye. We havent really talked for months now; weve drifted apart. Somethings got to change. Im sad, this isnt the life we dreamed of. He used to be so caring and cheerful! What happened to us?
I turned, halfexpecting a response. Did you say something? I asked.
Nothing, she said, waving a hand. Just dont be late. Mrs. Prudence Harding wont forgive you. See you later, Daniel, she added, sending a quick kiss my way and smiling only with her lips as she waved.
At the bus stop I stood for a few minutes, glancing anxiously at my watch and sighing heavily.
I must make it to the lesson, or the headmaster will give me a dressingdown. And Mrs. Harding will add fuel to the fireshe never seems to like me for no reason, I muttered, shifting from foot to foot.
The street was damp and cold. Lonely snowflakes drifted down, turning lazily in the air, landing without changing the bleak pictures already playing in my mind. My stomach growled for at least a mug of tea and a hasty sandwich, sliced by a blunt, indifferent knife. But the real test wasnt the hungerit was the sudden ability to hear other peoples thoughts. They slipped in through my ears, lodged in my head as soon as I glanced at anyone.
Fragments of curses, complaints, snide remarks, even occasional profanity floated into my mind from the strangers at the stop. I tried to keep my eyes on the pavement where the graceful snowflakes performed their brief, pointless dances. Were they doing little somersaults, or perhaps intricate figureskating moves? Who could read their minds and tally them on paper without using their hands?
The mental chatter overwhelmed me, like a stormy gutter. I felt myself slipping toward madness. A wild thought rose:
Can everyone read thoughts? This never happened before. Am I ill? I havent drunk any alcohol lately. Is this a disease that can be cured? Is it contagious? If I close and open my eyes, will it disappear? No, the hateful voices continue. What have I done to deserve this?
Just then the number1 bus appeared around the corner. The crowd hustled to secure positions for boarding.
An elderly lady in an oldfashioned drab coat and a motheaten green scarf shoved me gently from behind. I turned, and her silent thoughts washed over me:
These halfbaked intelligentsia shuffle about! Theyre uselesslet them sweep the streets instead of trying to teach our children! They should look in the mirror first! A fool like him makes me want to hug and weep, then strangle, so he wont bother reading books and pondering eternity. They cant even hold a broom properly. Give them one and send them on their way.
Did you say something to me? I called out.
What? No, young man, she replied, slipping onto the bus without a word.
I couldnt afford a taxi, so I squeezed into the bus, pressing against the icy doors. The commuters, all bundled in padded coats, seemed to be on urgent missionsperhaps hunting for a spot on the train, the tram, or the next bus, all while trying to outpace those who truly needed to get somewhere.
On the step beside me stood my pupil, Anna, from Year10B.
Good morning, MrDaniels! she chirped, startling me as I ran for the bus.
Morning, Anna, I replied, averting my gaze so I wouldnt pick up her thoughts. Do you think well be late for class?
She giggled in my head: Hes such a cool bloke! Tall, handsome, blueeyedmaybe a bit older than me, but Id love to fall for him. The headmistress is always eyeing him, and he never notices. Hes always mulling over formulas. She even swaps lessons just to bother him! She looks at him like shes scalding him with hot water.
I think well make it, I said aloud, trying not to stare at her. Youve prepared your assignment, havent you, Anna?
Yes, and heres our stop, she replied, leaping off the bus with a spring.
Outside the school gates, a woman I recognised as Olga, the mother of my student Vlad, waited. Vlad had been out of school for a month due to a badly broken ankle.
Good morning, MrDaniels! Im sorry to hold you up, but could you give Vlad some extra physics lessons? At home or via Zoom, whatever works. Hes missed a lot and needs to catch up. Of course, Ill pay for it.
I already heard her thoughts: Were flat brokeeverythings gone to the operation. I need to sort out a sum with Mrs. Harding and the maths teacher, but I cant afford it. Ill clean the stairwells after work, maybe get a grant for the kids. Well survive.
Dont worry about money, I said, smiling. Ill send him the Zoom link tonight. Well review algebra and geometry together. Hell be back on his feet soon enough.
Tears welled in her eyes. Thank you so much, she whispered, handing me a heavy bag of apples from our garden. Please, take these as a token of gratitude.
I opened the bag and saw bright red apples, their skin gleaming. A warm feeling spread through my chestdoing good for others truly lifts the spirit.
In the school hall I met Mrs. Harding. I tried not to listen, but her thoughts invaded: That insolent fool! Ill give him a busy schedule forever. Hell stay a lowpaid assistant forever, begging for extra lessons. Hell live in poverty, his wife will leave him, and Ill watch him suffer.
I forced a smile and entered my classroom. Fifteen minutes remained before the lesson, so I rummaged through my bag and found a phone, and, tucked in the inner pocket, a small parcelEmmas breakfast box with a thermos of scorching coffee. A miracle, indeed.
During the break, Svetlana from Year8A slipped into the room, avoiding eye contact.
What do you want, Svet? she asked, quietly.
Inside her mind I heard: What does Mrs. Harding want? Unbutton your blouse, stand close, Ill slip out, and youll get a good mark.
I reacted instantly, darting out of the room as I collided with Mrs. Harding at the door.
Another stunt by the deputy head, I muttered. Maybe I need a new job.
After the third period, an old university friend called, offering me a position at a private academy where he was headmaster. I promised to think it over and invited Emma for coffee later. My bank account had just been credited with my salarya tidy sum in pounds. I realised wealth isnt about gold or gems but about a loving wife, children, and a generous heart. Without those, a person is just an empty shell.
As I shut the school doors, a snowball struck my head. I brushed it off, still needing to make peace with Emma.
I hope I never have to hear other peoples thoughts again, though today it was oddly useful, I thought, buying a bunch of white chrysanthemums from a metro kiosk for Emma. I paid the lady and, for once, didnt peek into her mind.
How lucky I am, I whispered, watching Emma run toward me, her hair tumbling into her face. I gently brushed a strand away and kissed it. It smelled of home and warmth.
The snowflakes continued their silent pirouettes, drifting through the air as if performing a final ballet. Perhaps they were the ones that soothed the rift between Emma and me, flapping their white wings of forgiveness.
Lesson: No matter how chaotic the world becomeswhether you hear strangers thoughts or miss an alarmwhat truly steadies you is love, kindness, and the simple act of looking after those you cherish.
