Awakening

Chapter 2

“I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by and by into our lives." The passage echoed in my head. Closing my eyes I envisioned the moment. I could see it all clearly, almost as if it were a memory. But then again I had read them so many times they almost were a memory. A Tale of Two Cities, it was my favorite book. I had a copy at home that I had read so many times I could almost quote the entire thing. It was lucky for me that it was what we were going over in my English class this year.

My mother used to read it to me when I was younger. I used to lie awake at night and picture it all in my mind. It sounds like such a depressing book to read to a young child but for some reason I loved it. I had seen the movies made on the book but they weren’t anything like my imagination. From the time I was a kid I had always pictured what the characters would look like, how they sounded. It was so easy to fall into those day dreams.

“Ms. Clapp? Ms. Clapp!” a sharp voice cut through my thoughts.

“What?” Looking up I saw not only my very old, very cranky English teacher Mrs. Sharpton looking at me but also the eyes of the entire class. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Heaving a sigh she narrowed her eyes. “What does the wine spilling out of the cask in Book 5 of a Tale of Two Cities represent?” she asked, frustration clear in her voice.

“Oh, it symbolizes the peasants’ hunger and the blood that will be let when the revolution comes into full swing,” I said quickly.

I watched as she nodded in approval. “Very good, but pay attention.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

I continued to blush a deep crimson as all the eyes in the room left me. I had been doing this a lot lately, letting my mind wander from place to place. I had never slacked in my studies but lately I was beginning to have less focus. I’m not sure exactly why but my teachers were starting to notice and that wasn’t a good thing. It wasn’t long before the bell rang and I was grateful. Gathering my things I began to make my way out of the class along with my other classmates when I was called to a stop.

“Carla, could you hold on a moment?” Mrs. Sharpton called.

Letting out a sigh I turned and walked back to her desk. Mrs. Sharpton was known for many things in my school; her 10 page comprehensive final, her yard stick that she used to keep students awake, and her short temper. I had always gotten along fine with her. I was one of the smartest kids in my year. Pair that with always turning my work in on time and never falling asleep in her class and I had never had any problems with her.

She was a tall, skinny woman. Her salt and pepper hair was always pulled back into a tight bun on top of her head. The thick, black rimmed glasses she always wore were perched right on the end of her nose and I could never figure out how they didn’t fall off. “I wanted to talk to you about your performance lately,” she said.

“Look Mrs. Sharpton I’m sorry that I was day dreaming. It won’t happen again,” I promised quickly.

“It’s not just that. Your work lately hasn’t exactly been you,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I said confused.

“You’re usually so thorough on everything that you turn in. You put so much detail and effort into everything and it comes through in your work. Lately it hasn’t; combine that with you lack of attention in class and I’m beginning to wonder if there is something else going on?” she asked.

I stood there looking at her. How could she figure that out? I didn’t think teachers paid that much attention to anything. “It’s nothing, I’ll do better.”