ILL REMIND YOU
Miss Mary, I cant get the swirl right here, whispered young Tom, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he poked his brush at a stubborn green leaf in his painted flower, curled the wrong way.
Oh, dont press so hard, love, the elderly teacher replied gently. Just sweep the brushlike a feather on your palm. There! See? Not a swirl, a work of art! Well done! She smiled, eyes creasing kindly. And tell me, whos the lucky person getting this masterpiece?
For Mum! Tom grinned, triumphant now that the leaf obeyed him. Its her birthday today! This is my present! His pride was evidentteachers praise only added to it.
Oh, your mums a lucky one, Tom. Wait a tick, dont close the sketchbook just yet. Let the paints dry, or theyll smudge. When you get home, you can carefully tear the sheet out. Mark my words, your mum will absolutely love it.
Miss Mary watched the boys bowed head for a moment longer, her heart warmed, before returning to her desk.
Bless the ladwhat a gift for his mum! She hadnt seen such lovely presents in ages. Toms got quite the knack for drawing She should ring his mother, suggest art school. Such talent mustnt go to waste.
And to find out herself if the mum liked this precious gift too. Miss Mary herself could hardly tear her eyes away from those vivid flowers on the paper; it felt as if, any moment, theyd rustle to life.
Just like his mum, Tom is! Absolutely his mother! Little Lucy in her day was just as talented
*****
Later that evening, Miss Marys phone rang. Miss Mary, its LucyTom Carters mum, came a brisk young womans voice. Just letting you know Tom wont be in school tomorrow.
Hello, Lucy! Is something wrong? Miss Mary asked with concern.
Oh, plenty! The rascal ruined my whole birthday! And now hes running a fever, the ambulance just left, Lucy said, voice sharp with worry and frustration.
Fever? He left school as healthy as could be, bringing you your present
You mean those stains?
Stains? Oh, Lucy, he painted those flowers for you! I was planning to ring you about enrolling him in art school
I dont know what kind of flowers they were, but what I pulled from that backpack was nothing but a flea-bitten bundle! Sopping wet, stinking something awfulhe dove straight into a puddle for it, after some louts chucked it in! Ruined his books, put stains all through his sketchbooknothing but a mess. Then his temperature shot up The party fell apart. The doctor told me off for not keeping watch
I took the poor pup back where I found it when Tom finally dropped off to sleep. The sketchbooks over there by the radiator drying outnot that theres any flowers left in it to see! Lucy finished with a huff.
She barely noticed how Miss Marys face grew darker with every word, her tone climbing higher.
But when Lucy mentioned what had become of the puppy Tom had rescued, Miss Marys face grew thunderous. She fixed Lucy with a stern look, ran a gentle hand over the ruined sketchbook, and spoke softly.
She spoke of green swirls and spirited flowers of diligent hands and bravery beyond years. Of a boys heart unwilling to accept cruelty, and of the hooligans whod tossed that helpless pup away.
Then Miss Mary guided Lucy to the window. Theres that spot, she said, where not just a puppy mightve drownedTom might have, too. But did he think of that, risking himself? Or perhaps he was thinking of those flowers, hoping just not to smudge his present?
She paused. Have you forgotten, Lucy? Back in the 90s, you wept outside the school, clutching a stray kitten you fought off the bullies for? How the whole class soothed it with you, waiting for your mum How you refused to go home after your parents threw the flea-bitten fluff out, till they changed their minds?
Miss Mary pulled from her tattered album a photo: a delicate girl in a crisp school pinafore, beaming as she hugged a fuzzy kitten, classmates crowding around. Ill remind you of your own kindness, Lucy. The sort that brightened your heart, no matter what
A faded childs drawing fluttered down, showing a small girl, clutching a tousle-haired kitten with one hand, gripping her mothers with the other.
If it were up to me, Miss Mary pressed on, Id give Tom and that puppy the biggest hug. Id frame those colourful stains! Theres no finer gift for a mother than raising a child with a true heart.
As she spoke, Lucys face changedher eyes flicked, worried, toward Toms shut bedroom door; her knuckles whitened on the ruined album.
Miss Mary! Would you mind watching Tom for a few minutes? Just a few, I promise! Lucy blurted, already flinging on her coat and dashing out.
Not watching her step, Lucy hurried toward the dump in the dusk, shoes soaked through, pushing aside wet boxes and rifling through rubbish bags, calling softly for the little creatureher eyes darting again and again to her home. Will he forgive me? she wondered.
*****
Tom, whos that in the flowers with his nose buried? Miss Mary asked next week, watching Tom draw.
Thats Digger, my mate! Tom grinned. Recognise him?
I do indeed! Theres even that white star on his paw. Remember us trying to scrub those paws clean, your mum and I? Miss Mary chuckled fondly.
I wash his paws every day now! Tom replied with pride. Mum says if you keep a friend, you look after him. She even bought us a little bath for it!
Youve got a good mum, Miss Mary said, smiling. Are you drawing her another gift?
I am! Want to put it in a frame this time, since she keeps those old stains up now and smiles at them. I dont get itwho smiles at stains, Miss Mary?
At stains? Miss Mary gave a knowing laugh. Maybe you do, if those stains come straight from the heart. Tell me, hows art school going, my friend? Getting on well?
Oh, yes! Soon Ill paint Mums portrait, shell love it! But for nowhere, Tom rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a folded sheet. This is from Mumshe draws now, too!
Miss Mary unfolded the paper and gently squeezed Toms shoulder. There, painted in a scatter of dazzling colours, was a beaming Tom with his hand on the head of a loyal, adoring black-and-white mongrel. Beside them stood a small, fair-haired girl in an old-fashioned school uniform cuddling a fluffy kitten. To the side, behind a teachers desk buried in books, Miss Mary herself watched over themsmiling, wise, her eyes bright, full of boundless warmth.
Every inch of the picture hummed with quiet, endless pride.
Miss Mary wiped away an unexpected tear, her smile shining as she noticed, nestled among green swirls and painted flowers in the very corner, a single word: Remember.
And that evening, as I wrote all of this down in my diary, I finally understoodthe greatest gift in life is nurturing compassion, in each other and in ourselves.
