Things are going well. I save myself $2000 by remembering the framing for the deck is already covered in the building contract. Then I get news one of my Year 11 students has died suddenly. The police have rung the school. I'm stunned and when I tell the English department, everybody stops and stands rooted. As professionals whose job revolves around young people, we're all affected. We process the news standing up till someone reminds us interval is half gone and morning tea is on the table. The bell sirens. In shock we go to lessons. My brain is on automatic. I look convincing and it's good to have a distraction but I'm stunned, thinking about this boy. The reality of the loss is too terrible to contemplate, especially as parents. At lunch time management calls a staff meeting. The principal chokes up and everyone is solemn. We're a community and the shock waves sway all of us.
I teach my Year 11 class as normal. It's obvious they don't know what has happened. They're in a warm room and I try to help those who need ideas. We're preparing for their next week's assessment. Finally I'm free to go home. It's been an intense week. But there's an outside world. I pick up the Miele induction hob and sort out the down lights for the bay windows. In the box, just labelled differently. I get a refund for the two I'm not going to put in my bedroom. Not needed as a light source and they will spoil the look of the bay ceiling.
This afternoon I cycle up the hill with increased energy. Before I leave for the Thursday drinkers' midwinter Christmas dinner I spend time with Kahu. He's bullet proof, on his phone and oblivious to me. But company is both necessary and reassuring.
The fridge I'm not getting
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