Three days of pizza.
Three days of pizza.
Idle clicking and random surfing brought me to another local blog, and I noticed a familiar first name among the links. My mouse hovered over the link, and for a while I could not believe my luck. It was a link to an old friend’s photo gallery, and I did not hesitate to click on it.
It brought back all the memories as well – of how we used to kick and pinch each other, and compete during the examinations, comparing our marks and grades. Being prefects, we used to walk about together, looking for wrongdoers and hoping for names to be filled into our small prefect notebook. I now realised that I spent a lot more time with him than with my other girlfriends – who were more concerned about being in cliques of their own, and ditching whoever out of the group whenever they felt like it.
I remember the little ‘interview’ we had to go through, in order to become prefects. His turn was before me, and when he came out, he looked all baffled and confused, muttering a ‘good luck’ to me. I recall being jittery, for the interviewer was one of the most-feared teachers from the disciplinary panel. If J.K. Rowling had written about a Professor Snape a decade ago, I am sure that most students would have likened him to the teacher. With an unsightly gap between his two front teeth and jet black hair, this teacher looked sinister enough to instruct you to run a hundred times around the muddy school field, or cast an equally menacing spell, if he could.
After the obligatory greetings, the teacher began asking his questions in a bored sort of way. He must have been repeating the very same question to the students.
“Okay, so I am walking to the canteen with my colleagues. I throw some sort of rubbish onto the ground. What would you do?”
“I’d ask you to pick it up and throw it into the rubbish bin.” I replied almost immediately.
“You’d dare ask a teacher to throw rubbish into its proper place?” At this, he gave an ominous glare, and I quivered.
“Uhm..” I began carefully. “I’d probably just take it and throw it into the bin then.”
“So you’d go around collecting rubbish from the ground for teachers?”
“Uh, no, no, I can’t do that all the time!” I replied in exasperation, and I racked my brains to come up with an appropriate answer. I could tell that the other teachers in the staff room, although with their heads bent down to their own work, were feigning ignorance and were probably already grinning from ear to ear.
I could not remember how the interview ended. We knew that this was his idea of a joke, though, although I do not believe all interviewed were made prefects. So it was, a few weeks later, my friend and I were decked in our new blue prefect uniforms, name tags for ourselves, complete with a navy blue tie. And the next year, he left to resume his studies in a private school all of a sudden, without leaving any contact details whatsoever.
That was ten years ago. Now that I stumbled upon his photo gallery, I looked through his pictures, recognising his sisters and cousins. Sometimes, some things are better left as they were, and I decided to not drop him an email.
Sometimes, some things are better left as memories.
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