Saturday Morning

Part A

Anthony's Point of View

In primary school, our teachers would always drill into our heads that the early bird gets the worm. Often I would joke with them and say, the early worm gets eaten by the early bird, as a way of shifting the narrative in hopes to justify my and my friends' lateness. However, I must admit, they had the last laugh in the end. These days I find myself being the early bird for everything – if an event starts at ten, my goal is to get there for nine or half past eight – I had no explanation for my newfound love of being early. Nonetheless, I liked it. I got to see the morning sun cast its light upon the world. I got to see dead roads come to life. I could grab food from the local bakery without delay. I waved to the bus drivers on their way from headquarters. I developed friendships with the dew of morning and the song of hummingbirds. Sometimes, being early is a delight, but one Saturday morning I found myself running earlier than usual.

External Exams were coming up, and my high school in hopes to help us prepare for these exams outside of class hours had set up various extra classes ranging from the sciences to the arts. That Saturday was dedicated to literature and the teacher was going through poetry. While I was not failing literature, I still wanted to take the time to get some extra practice, and thought to myself that maybe, from going to this class I'd gain a new perspective on the poem being explored. That is something I learned quickly in literature class, you can never run out of varied perspectives on the same poem or story. There are at least one thousand ways to interpret one sentence in the middle of a play, at the end of a novel, or even at the start of a poem. The class started in the evening, and I had had a very late Friday night. The plan was to sleep into nine, and then make my way to school, hopefully getting there by twelve – an hour before the class was set to begin. Strangely, I woke up at six in the morning and was unable to return to my slumber. Defeated, I decided to simply make a leisurely dash for school. Despite stopping to. After getting breakfast, and loitering around the transport centers I managed to get to school well before my predicted time.

I tried to open the staffing area. There was a chair in front of the main staffroom which I enjoyed sitting in in the mornings while I waited for school to begin. Sadly, the doors were closed and I had no choice but to settle for one of the concrete, backless benches under the trees next to the field. I was too lazy to make my way towards the gazebo and while I describe the benches harshly, they were rather comfortable. As I made my way to the seats closest to where the extra class would be, I noticed the car of my physics teacher, Mr. Archimedes. Sir and I had officially met last year when he became my teacher, but we had exchanged greetings before whenever we crossed paths in the mornings. He and I over the years developed a most interesting teacher-student bond. Oftentimes him referring to me as one of his sons, or as someone who he'd allow near his daughters if he had any. He respected my dedication to his class, and would often use me as ground zero when praising or chastising the class's performance. My good repour with him only increased my need to do well in his class. It is one thing to disappoint a teacher with a poor grade and another thing to disappoint your friend – that's what Mr. Archimedes and I were and still are to this day, friends.

I decided to go over to the physics labs and greet him, I thought that he was alone, but when I crossed the threshold of the room I was shocked to find a tribe of women all with their ears locked onto sir's words on the nature of mechanics. Not wanting to disturb sir, I just stood there waiting for my moment to insert myself. While waiting I scanned the room, hoping to see if I recognized any of the young ladies in the room. I noticed an old friend of mine from primary school, she nodded to me and returned to her notes. She was the only familiar face in the tribe. However, as my eyes moved to the bench directly in front of Sir, I saw her for the first time. Amelia. She had her head down writing every word sir had to say as if her life depended on it. Sir appreciated students like her, he often mentioned her and her friends in class when my classmates refused to write beyond the notes on the board. She wore a cap and a beige bottom, I believe it was a skirt and a shirt of normal design, my memory is fuzzy, but I think it was a bright shirt, perhaps pink. However, the way she dressed was not what I remember most about our first meeting. My teacher noticed me standing at the door, and he stopped his lesson to introduce me, this caused Amelia to stop writing – I think she was annoyed that I broke the lesson's flow given the squinting of her nose when sir paused. Sir introduced me with the usual glowing review, and after I stopped relishing his compliments, I turned to see Amelia's face upright for the first time without her cap blocking everything but her nose and upper lip.