See Ya Later r C

Scout - - NON-FICTION - By Andy Tu­big

Mr. C was the nicest teacher I’ve ever had. He gave the eas­i­est ex­ams, greeted every­one with a smile and never, not even once, raised his voice in class.

Of course we were hor­ri­ble to him. We were such brats. We used his class time to eat, chat, braid our hair and work on projects for our other classes. We made fun of the dumb­est things like how he was the only teacher who rode a bike to school or how his eyes would widen ev­ery time he got re­ally en­thu­si­as­tic in his lec­tures. Even the other teach­ers would im­i­tate his goofy grin and his stut­ter. And yet Mr. C’s kind­ness never fal­tered. He never took any­thing per­son­ally, which frus­trated the hell out of every­one. We all longed for the day he would nally snap.

But he never gave us that sat­is­fac­tion. It was the mid­dle of Christ­mas break when Mr. C died in his sleep. The last thing he said was how ex­cited he was to cook for his fam­ily the next day. Ex­cept he never woke up. None of us knew he had heart com­pli­ca­tions. Nor that we would be his last ad­vi­sory class. And as his class pres­i­dent, I had never felt more aw­ful about my­self.

A few days later, I found my­self back in Mr. C’s class.

As usual, no­body paid at­ten­tion to his lec­ture, in­clud­ing my­self. I re­mem­ber be­ing in the mid­dle of a con­ver­sa­tion with my seat­mates when for some rea­son I felt the need to get up. The mo­ment I stood up, the re­al­ity of Mr. C’s death hit me like a bucket of ice cold wa­ter dumped over my head. I looked at Mr. C and saw a man smil­ing and full of life. Goose­bumps crept over my body. I started cry­ing. The voices around me mel­lowed un­til the only the sound in the room was my sob­bing. Mr. C asked me what was wrong. I kept apol­o­giz­ing, kept telling him he de­served bet­ter. My class­mates be­gan to cry, too. I asked him why he had to leave so soon. I turned to Mr. C and saw tears run­ning down his cheeks. On his face was a small, sad smile. I asked him if he’d ever for­give us but be­fore he could re­spond, I woke up, sob­bing.

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