I am in the staff room. In my school. It’s a cold convent full of stones. There’s no window here. I have failed. On my math test. I need one more mark. To pass overall. I am crying. I am pleading. The Sister laughs. She walks away. Others laugh too. A big loud laugh. Very shrill. I am small. I feel smaller. I am 12. I hold the script in front of me. I have 39. I need 40. To pass. I won’t get it. There’s no window here. I have failed. I will fail. I will always have that one red mark. Something red will stay with me. Grow quietly. Sinisterly. Somewhere in my body. My socks feel suddenly shorter. I am seen. Uncovered. By one mark. I stand there. I try to pull. My socks. My braids hang heavy from my head. That one mark. Is something huge? It’s shaming me. It will stay. Grow every day. I am scared. There’s no window here.

The bell rings. Very shrill. Like the loud laughs. It’s lunchbreak now. The staff room is very full. There’s no window here. It’s a cold convent full of stones. The Sisters come in. Lunchboxes appear. I have disappeared. From everyone’s eyes. Only I see me. In a mirror. Very scared. Very sad. Long braids from a small head. There’s no window here. I am in the staff room. Still. There’s the sound. Of everyone eating. Food is chewed. I am discussed. I am mocked. I am chewed. Chop, chop, chop. There’s this rotten pumpkin smell. I know that stink all too well. I hear a tap. Not well closed. Something falls. The sound of loss. Saline smell. Water drops.

I think of the auto. An abandoned car. Something broken, something bent. Left by time, became my friend. It stands still. On a patch of grass. In our old garden. Where lizards hiss. On dead red leaves. I walk there when I want to go away. I sit at the back. And close my eyes. I sometimes sing. I sometimes fly. I want to go there now. And hide with my red mark. The auto has many windows. Not like this room. Where voices mock. And cut like rocks. Where I am chewed. Chop, chop, chop.

And then you come in. You from now. You walk in. Through a crack in time. You are big. You are tall. You look at me. Your eyes are mine. You ask me to wait. I nod my head. You call the math Sister. She comes from the washroom. Her face still wet. You scold her. For being unfair. Cruel. Loveless. She is scared. The eating stops. The chop, chop, chop. You tell everyone. To treat me with love. I am not crying. I’m no more mocked. You are here. You turn the time. You turn events. Your eyes are mine.

I have passed. I have the mark. The one red mark. Is suddenly small. I turn to you. Then I smile. Say thank you. To you from now. Through a crack in time.  Standing tall. You ask me if I am okay. I am not crying anymore. There will be no red mark chasing me all the time. My socks are high. And my braids feel light. You bring something out. A pair of shoes. Very red. Very new. I slide my foot, right inside. It’s a perfect fit. I wear both. New red shoes. I see a red mark on the floor. The same red mark. Which was shaming me. I stamp on it as the Sisters see. You hold my hand and we walk out. Out of that big windowless staffroom. The cold convent full of stones. Where loveless Sisters chew their food. You ask me if I am hungry. I gently nod. I feel free. I am happy.

We sit in the abandoned auto. Together on the back seat. And then we fly. Through the leaves. Across the seas. Which mix and merge. With the crack in time. Till we touch. And come to now. Your eyes are mine. And then we walk. Into an old ice-cream café. It’s nice and warm. There are many windows here. High long windows above wooden benches. By a river. Or a sea. Where there’s nothing red except my shoes. My new red shoes. That’s your gift. The perfect fit. You take me before the ice-cream counter. You ask me to choose a flavor. It’s nice and warm. There are many windows here. You make me feel free. I see outside. Your eyes are mine. I ask for butterscotch. You order two scoops. We are here and in now. The cold convent full of stones. The sad Sisters chewing food. Are away, long since gone.

I begin to have the ice-cream. With a wooden spoon which feels so wonderfully warm on my tongue. My braids hang light. There are many windows here. I look at you. Your eyes are mine. Together we see a twilight fall. Falling for us alone. Our slice of Paris boulevard by the sea. There’s a long cable bridge or a beach. Or maybe both. The butterscotch smell spreads. Mixing with the redness of my new shoes. Across the café. It’s nice and warm. There are many windows here. Where change happens. Where life, felicity, flutter forever. Our auto stands right outside. The smell starts spreading across the skies. Above the river, or the sea. The evening is softly swimming in. Everything is floating. We are in now. Under a timeless tree. And we are raining.