Since the very first day I saw him in the classroom, by the first days of the course and introduced himself to the group, I felt that he was exactly the kind of person I wanted for me. He would give us the chemistry classes once a week, in one the laboratories at school. After some short (and some other that not short) conversations, I felt really attracted to him. For me was certainly handsome, funny and very intelligent. He was one of the youngest teachers at school, but he had some of the most advanced grades at his subject. Sometimes I found myself writing his initials in notebook, books and my school bag or even in the school furniture. My friends started making jokes about it, because we shared lots of things in common and I think I was the one who he used to talk to the most from the class, so whenever we found him in the hallways and greeted us, they giggled and told me funny things about the situation. Course, I always denied it, but I couldn’t avoid thinking of him all. There was a tendril of memory, floating at the back of my mind, of a babysitter and my unhappiness at having this particular sitter stay with me.The still picture of my mother was engraved into my memory, because, instead of my father come to pick her up, there were two police officers and a clergyman. There words were far too soft for my little ears, and the baby sitter scooped me up and ran from the room, lest I hear and understand.Later...Was it years, later? Decades, maybe.There is no time when you're dead. Only now, forever...Another flash of memory.My mother, weeping at the kitchen sink, was holding a sheaf of medical papers in her hand. She stared at the papers as if they were a palpable enemy that she could rend, tear, or kill. Her tears were hard and angry – but soft, and almost helpless. Hindsight cleared up so much, and I now know the anguish she felt as the sterile, white forms pronounced her death sentence.For millennia I lingered in the valley of death. There were no.
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