Love Will Come Through

Every ordinary man has its desires. Every normal human does. It’s odd to think that every living organism has the same desires.

Surviving is one of them. When it comes to survival, one often chooses for himself. Water, food and shelter. Those are the three primary things one needs to survive. But what about love? Humans are the only creatures in the world who can express their love for another by so many ways. No human is an expectation.

Not even Chris Hammond, although he thinks he is. He was a 38 year old teacher at St. Brandon Secondary School in London. He had been teaching English there for almost ten years when his life changed. His life always seemed one big routine. He’d got up, got dressed, have breakfast in the tube, arrive at school, teach, go home, do his work, watch TV, go to bed. In the weekend, he often went out to the pub nearby. Chris was a bachelor man, and it happened quit often he ended that some evenings with complete strange women in his bed. It was a routine to him. He did not know love. He had never loved someone before, and in his opinion, he would never do so.

So today, was just an ordinary day. He had just arrived at school, and entered his classroom, which in the next five minutes filled itself with 20 sixth-form students. It was the day after the autumn break, and he had given them an assignment, which he would receive from them today.

So he spoke to the class when everyone had arrived, and one-by-one, the students came to his desk and placed their papers on it. When he had received all of them, he ordered them to work silently on some old exams, so he could start grading them.

When the class was working, he took the first essay. He had assigned this one a few weeks ago, and it would be part of their exam grade. The essay had to be a fantasy story, and was free on choice. The first one was from Noreen Williams. She was a 17 year-old student who always sat alone in the back of the classroom. She was a shy, lonely girl with not many friends. She had black hair, and always wore black clothes outside school. He knew that, because he had seen her at Covent Garden a few times. As it was a routine, and she was at school, she was wearing her school uniforms now. He looked up at her for a moment, her black hair falling past her face upon her desk. She was writing.

He looked back at the essay and began to read. It was a long essay, and he finished it just before the lesson would end. He would have enough time to grade it. He noticed she had a nice way of writing. But to him, it all seemed so miserable. Being his student, he had read more of her work, and he had noticed her stories always seemed very sad. He was wondering why she wrote like that? He graded the essay. The bell rang, and it was he who spoke at once:

‘Noreen, can you stay for a moment?’ the smile on his face was mend to tell he she did not had to be worried about anything. The girl kept seated. As the class emptied itself, he got up from his chair and sat down on his desk, crossing his arms as he looked at her.

‘You write very well,’ he said with his normal kind voice. He always spoke like this in private moments. He had noticed it himself. When he was teaching, he tone was more different than when he had serious conversations.

‘Thank you, sir,’ her voice was as soft as ever. He hadn’t heard her speak very often. She always was a quite one, who didn’t seem to like to talk much in public.

‘Your style is always the same,’ he commented about her writing.

‘I know.’

He kept silent for a moment, and watched how she chewed on her fingernails for a moment. She seemed nervous, and she had not looked at him for a second. She was shy.

‘Why do you write so miserable?’ he asked her. He knew it was a direct question, but that was who he was. He would like to know the reason why she wrote so well. Did she write more often? Was there a reason why she always seemed so miserable? She only shrugged.

‘Is there a reason why you write like that?’ he asked and tilted his head a bit, trying to make her look at him. But she didn’t. She only shrugged again, and still stared at her nails. It seemed she didn’t want to talk about it. Another silence, for only a few seconds, until he asked her: ‘Do you like reading?’
For the first time, she finally looked up at him and nodded. He could see her eyes were brown. He had never seen them as she never looked at him.

‘What do you read?’ he asked her curiously, glad she finally sought eye contact.

‘Lot’s of the basic stuff,’ she plainly answered, her eyes wondering away for a moment until she looked back at him again. ‘Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Eragon, Narnia - But I can’t read that much anymore, because I haven't got much time for it, but - I like it. I read much about medieval stuff and other things about history.’

He nodded at her and smiled kindly. Although it was all ‘basic stuff’, she at least had more reading experience than any other ordinary student. He liked it. He even liked it she read historical! He had studied history himself, so he was a history fanatic as well.

‘Really?’ he said, making his voice sound surprised, because he really was. ‘I've studied the English history,' he added. 'History is a very interesting subject and probably the subjects where you can learn the most from.’ She nodded, and he asked her: ‘So I suppose you like to write as well?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she answered, a faint blush on her pale cheeks.

‘Like what?’ he asked, feeling more and more curious.

‘Poems - short stories,’ she answered softly.

‘Essays?’ he asked with a smile on his face.

She shrugged again, but now, she finally smiled back at him. She looked a lot more different when she smiled like this. He hadn’t seen her smile before.

‘Things I think about - what comes up to my mind,’ she said, again her eyes were wondering ‘It's always different.'
He smiled at her, feeling enthusiastic. He also spent many hours behind his laptop, staring at the display until something would come out. During some lessons, when he had been staring out of the window, he had come up with a poem, or just some few lines that looked nice, and he always wrote them down on a piece of paper, which he pocketed and would type down on his computer later that day.

'Well, I must say it doesn't happen I come across a student, who likes to write very often,' he said. 'And I know it's soon, but would you like doing some extra assignments for English? Like making essays - show me some of your poetry - write stories?' He looked hopefully at her, wanting her to do it.

She seemed to think about it for a minute, until she answered: 'Yeah, I could do that. It wouldn't be a problem, Mr. Hammond,' she smiled.

He nodded with a broad grin on his face.

‘Fantastic!’ he said and than got up from the desk ‘Well, shall I bring you back to your lesson? Where is it?’

‘Upstairs,’ she said as she got up as well, swinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got maths.’

‘I will bring you. I don’t want your teacher to think you’re late,’ he said as he left the class room first. When she had followed him, he locked the door and they both took the first staircase up.

'I noticed the class wasn't really fond of you when you returned in your essay the first,' he said.

He had noticed this already a few weeks before. She was always sitting alone. Every time when she finished her work, he had seen the class look at her. He had heard them whisper and look at her. She never talked to anyone, and no-one talked to her.

'Yeah, they don't like me being the first one all the time,’ she said. ‘They think I want to impress the teacher or something. But I don't. I'm always done very quickly,’ they had reached the top stairs when she spoke this.

‘That’s just jealously,’ he said as they walked through the corridor. When they reached the classroom, he placed his hand on the doorknob, to prevent her from entering yet. ‘Listen - if there is something - well you know - you would like to talk about - you could always come to me if you’d want too.’

She nodded and smiled. He smiled back and opened the door. She thanked him and went in. Peter, the teacher standing in front of the class, turned his head to him, a questioning look on his faace, but Chris only nodded before he closed the door again.

This was how Chris Hammond was. Average built and length. Not special or absolutely handsome. He wore glasses and his hair always was a mess. He wasn’t a type who cared about his looks. He wore casual clothes, polo’s, sweaters, denim trousers, but always those black Converses. He was a kind teacher. He knew his reputation at his school, and he knew that most students liked him. He had learned to combine his humour with his teaching. He had also learned that when students like a teacher, it is would be more probable that the students would work hard. Even though he used his humour, he could be strict as well. He was still a teacher, so in the classroom, he still had the authority. But even though, he still respected students like they were equals.

When he closed the door behind him he was grabbed around the neck by someone. The person began to ruffle through his head.

'Paul!' Chris groaned, trying to throw his brother of. 'Let go of me!'
Paul was his brother. He was 10 years younger than him, and he was a teacher at St. Brandon as well. He, on the other hand, taught P.E.

'How's your day, big brother?' Paul said as he let go of him.

'Great,' Chris muttered and ran his hand through his hair and straightened his glasses. 'Until now,' he added as he saw there were stains on his glasses. He took them of and cleaned them with the rim of his shirt

'Stop acting like a nutter, Chris,' Paul said as he snatched the glasses out of his' hand. He putt them on.
Even with glasses, his brother looked a lot more handsome than he was. It had never annoyed him, but it had his negative signs. He wasn't also handsome, but more popular with the girls. He didn't mind. He knew he would go mad if he would have girls tailing his back everyday. But Paul loved it. He loved the attention of the students. It often happened when he heard students talk about ‘Hammond,’ and when another student asked ‘which one?’ they often spoke about Paul as ‘The handsome one'.

Paul peered through the window next to the door to see which class Chris had just visited.

'Ah, 10B,' Paul said and he raised his eyebrows.

'Don't tell me you can even see through those glasses,' he said.

'Oh, we're still brothers.'

'Doesn't mean we’ve the same eye sight.'

'What is it anyway?'

'Minus 3,' he said and snatched the glasses back.

Paul looked back at him again. 'Your eyesight is getting worse?'

'Yes it is, and yes, that is 10B,' he said irritated and nudged at the classroom.

Paul nodded. 'Good class,' he said. 'I have them for P.E. - had them last year too.'

'Well, this is my first year I have them,' he said and began to walk away from the classroom, followed by Paul.

'Shouldn't you be teaching some third years how to throw a ball through a net?' he asked annoyed to Paul.

'No,' Paul said. 'We have intake courses for the first years now - For the sports class,' He added as he saw how Chris raised an eyebrow.

'Ah, right,' he said as he entered the teacher's restroom.

'How about you?' Paul asked as they walked towards the coffee machine.

'Free hour,' he mumbled as he took a cup of coffee. Paul didn't take coffee but grabbed a sports drink. They sat down at a table.

'Thank god I only have one class after this one,' he yawned.

Paul chuckled, drinking his sport's drink.

‘Late one last night?’

‘Last weekend,’ he yawned and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. He saw how Paul rolled his eyes.

They spend the next 10 minutes talking about classes, until Paul came back on 10B.

'Right - ' he said as he stared at the table. Paul had just told him about how 10B once had pranked on another class. He wasn’t interested.

'Do you know Noreen Williams?'

Paul nodded. 'Of course,' he said. 'Quiet one. Not really active at P.E, but she manages to keep up.'

Chris nodded and checked his watch.

'Right,’ Chris ended the conversation at once. ‘I have my next class now and I need to prepare my lesson,' he said and got up, drinking the last bit of coffee.

'Yes, I'm going to see how the first years are doing,' Paul said. They both left the staff room. They bade goodbye and went their own ways.

An hour later, he watched how the next class left and sighted. He looked at the essays he had just received back from this class.

It doesn't seem like this niveau is high -

He stuffed the essays in his bag and closed it, swinging it over his shoulder. He left the classroom before the next
class and their teacher could enter.

Home -

He left the school, taking out a package of cigarettes at once. He took a cigarette and lighted it. He took a long drag and looked around the school yard. The first years were having a break now, so the yard was filled with first years eating their lunch and enjoying the last sun rays before the autumn really would start.

Suddenly, he saw a student sitting on a bench who certainly wasn’t a first year. It was Noreen William. She was searching her bag for something. She than took out a package of cigarettes and she took one out. He grinned.

Oh well, she's not a child -

When she looked up at him he grinned at her. He than threw his cigarette on the ground and left the court yard, heading for the tube.

Half an hour later, he opened the door of his apartment. He was carrying a plastic bag with groceries he had just bought. It contained his evening meal.

It was small, but it was very life able. He owned an apartment near Nothing hill, and he had been living her for many years now. It existed out of a small sitting room, a small kitchen, a larger bedroom where he also had a desk on which he worked a lot and strangely enough a rather large bathroom.

He dumped his schoolbag on the ground in the sitting room and went to the kitchen, and placed the plastic bag on the kitchen table. He opened the fridge and took out a cold bear. Back in the sitting room, he sank down on the sofa and took a long swig out of the bottle. Although it was still morning, he often drank a beer when he came out of school.

Actually, beer was the only thing he liked to drink when he was home alone. And that happened a lot.

Rubbing his face as he lowered his bottle, he spoke to himself in a yawn: 'God I'm tired'

No shit - you went to bed very late -

He stared at his bag that stood on the ground a few meters away from him. He reached out and dragged it towards him. He took out the essays and placed them on his salon table. He took out a pen and began to read them.

Like I said - Rubbish, most of them -

It took him a few hours to read all the essays. He soon got bored, but he had promised the class to grade them before tomorrow, so he read on. When he was done he sighed. Almost all the essays had been full with grammar and spelling mistakes.

They have a lot to learn -

And soon, his thoughts fell upon Noreen.

She was special - So different - I never met any student like her -

He walked over to the CD player and putted in a record of the Clash. He whistled along with the song as he walked back
to the kitchen. He took another beer from the fridge and he than began to unpack the plastic bag. He took out a microwave meal he had just bought and he placed it in the microwave. He leaned against the kitchen sink, staring at the microwave as his diner was rotating inside the machine.

While drinking, he waited a few minutes until he took the meal out again. He took a fork from the drawer and clenched it between his teeth so he could carry his beer in his other hand. He sat down on the sofa and began to eat his meal, still eying once in a while at the pile of essays he still had to grade.
When he had almost finished his diner, he turned on the TV so he could watch the news. Half an hour later, he had finished his meal, and the news was replaced by some program about British couple buying a house in France which they had to renovate.

After a few minutes staring numbly at the program, he got up and took the leftovers of the microwave meal back to the kitchen where he threw them away.

Instead of going back to the sofa, he went to the bedroom.

‘Oi!’ he said as he saw his cat lying on his bed. ‘Get your bum over here, I need attention.’

The cat gave only a purr and got up at once, its tale high in the air. It jumped of the bed and came towards him. He grinned and went back to the sitting room. He sat down on the sofa again and changed the channel to Discovery channel.

When he got bored watching TV, he turned on the stereo again and took another essay which he began to read. It took him an hour to read and grade them, so he stuffed them in his bag when he was done. He lay down on the sofa with his eyes closed.

A few seconds later he felt a wet nose touch his hand that was hanging limply of the sofa. His cat, Strummer jumped on the sofa and curled himself up between his legs.

He soon noticed he was beginning to fall asleep. I woke up out of his trance when the CD had ended. He yawned widely, and decided to go to bed early.

When he got up, Strummer jumped of his lap at once. After turning of the stereo he went to the bedroom where he closed the curtains. It became pitch dark in his bedroom. After a quick brush of his teeth, he stumbled back to his bedroom where he took of his clothes. He crawled underneath the sheets and took of his glasses when Strummer joined him. It didn’t take long before he fell asleep.

And this was how Chris Hammond’s life was. Simple. Nothing ordinary. He was a teacher, so he couldn’t say his life was boring. But it certainly was not something everyone would feel exciting about everyday they woke up.