The bell sounds for lunch.
The whole class jumped at the sudden sound of it. It seems as though everyone had been captivated while reading the Great Gatsby that we all forgot about time.
"Alright students, we will pick up where we left off next class and prepare for next week's Socratic seminar," Mr. Moore dismissed the class, causing groans at the mention of a Socratic seminar.
"Aurora, can you stay a few minutes after class?" Mr. Moore's calm, croaky voice sounded through the retorts of the students.
Everyone shuffled around to pack their things and head to the cafeteria. Mr. Moore prepared for the next class, tidying up his desk and erasing the whiteboard while I continued reading the Great Gatsby.
After everyone was gone, and once there was only the faint sound of students heard at the end of the hall, I finally spoke up.
"I hate to say it, Mr. Moore, but I think your age is finally catching up to you," I said, not taking my eyes off the Great Gatsby. I heard him lowly chuckle from his desk.
"What are you talking about?" Mr. Moore responded. "In my fiftieth time reading Gatsby in my teaching career, I have never felt more alive than how I feel reading it with your class."
"Exactly my point. Don't you think it's time for retirement Mr. Moore?" That earned another chuckle from him as I joined in with a small laugh. "I truly hope you exaggerated that number a bit," I added.
"You can't get rid of me yet, kiddo," Mr. Moore finally responded.
Mr. Moore was my AP Literature teacher. He was an older teacher on campus, hinting toward his elderly years. He was a sort of legend on campus. During his high school years, he attended Patriot High, where he was a strong addition to the Academic Decathlon that won National Champions his entire four years in high school. Besides being an academic scholar, he was also a shining student-athlete, playing football and baseball, with other city title wins.
The high school environment was his thriving spot. Not just because it reminded it of his glory days, but because he loved the connection with students and the constant surrounder of the young. That's why he returned to his hometown after attending University and began teaching at Patriot High.
Everyone loved Mr. Moore. He was viewed as a mentor to students, as well as teachers. He was very popular among the halls, even forty years after. Everyone greatly respected him.
However, with that much respect, I saw that many treated him as fragile as an ancient drinking glass now at his increasing age.
No one could see that behind the mask of his creased, old age, he was still that young, intelligent jock roaming around the hallways with an exceptional amount of humor.
Mr. Moore was my very first friend in high school. You can call it lame, but I viewed it as an honor. He knew I had had trouble making friends since my very first day. He caught on to my extreme levels of anxiety and how I panicked to make it seem I was busy to avoid others looking at me lonely, which is why one day in my freshman year, four years ago, he said, "Aurora, can you see me after class?"
I was extremely nervous when he said those words to me, wondering what he could want to talk to me about individually. But as the students exited the classroom that day and I was left alone with Mr. Moore, it seemed as if he forgot that he had called me after class since he did not mutter a single word to me or even glare in my direction.
Confused, I took out a reading book and began reading, waiting for Mr. Moore to speak to me. But somehow, time was lost, and the bell for the end of lunch rang. I quickly gathered my things, and just as I was exiting the door, I heard Mr. Moore speak out, "Have a wonderful rest of your day Aurora."
