Finally, after years, your work as a high school teacher is being recognized and respected. Unfortunately, it took an apocalyptic event for that to happen.
Oh NOW you want to listen
“Like this?” Mr. Henderson raised his scarf, poking his head out from behind the holes formed through the center.
“Good first try,” I said, nodding, lowering it so the rest of the class didn’t scrutinize it much.
His wrinkles wrinkled. “First try? Needs some work?” he asked, mortification in his voice.
“We can’t get better at something without trying again and again,” I said encouragingly.
Henderson looked out at the horizon, a constant red buzz of energy melting away the world and growing. Whatever heat it generated, it took back tenfold, drinking warmth out of the world. Then the old man glanced down at his trembling hands, covered in patchy skin and veins.
“I don’t know if I have enough in me to try again and again,” he admitted, stifling a cough we all seemed to share these days.
“Well, then it’s fortunate I called it a good first try, right?” I said, draping the fabric around his neck.
He smiled, content. “I’ll try making some gruel.”
Moving on to the next student, I watched as Sarah pulled up a perfectly stitched sweater, her third this month. It was an impressive rate of work. Even with nothing else to do, most people wallowed in despair between classes, but she was making enough to have more than the necessities in the endless cold.
“Good work.” I ran my hands over the material. “Really good. What are you going to do with this one?”
Sarah tilted her head, headscarf flopping from one side to another in confusion.
“What am I supposed to do with a sweater except wear it?”
“Barter for better,” I suggested.
She stared. First at me, then down at her clothing, then back up to me. The tatters in her headscarf danced with her sharp movements.
“You think this is good enough to sell?”
“I’m certain. The stuff I sell is no better quality than this.” I ran my hand over it again, marveling at the expertise for a teenager.
“But why would they come to me when they can come to The Weaver?”
I chuckled, shaking my head at hearing the name from her. It was a silly title that shouldn’t have stuck.
“Because there are way more people in need of new clothes than there are ‘Weavers.’” I threw air quotes on the last term.
“You really think so?”
“If you don’t find a buyer by the end of the day, come back to me. In fact, the end of the hour. I’ll buy it myself.”
“You got it!” Sarah shot up and limped to the girl two tables down with a painting kit she had been eyeing for weeks.
Looking over my class of stichers and cooks, I was pleasantly surprised to see them teaching my methods to one another. Adjusting recipes and cleaning up shoddy threads on their own. Becoming autonomous and powerful, especially in this new world.
Our de-facto leader, Greg, hobbled over to me on his withering wooden staff, appreciating the scene alongside me.
“What kind of finance course did you say you taught again?”
“Home economics,” I replied.
Greg let out a chuckle. “No more homes to go around. But the economics are sound. Perhaps the only ones that matter. Incredible how prescient your work was, I’m sure you were the pinnacle of staff.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t even make the yearbook, I was so unmemorable,” I scratched the back of my scarf in embarrassment. “Mostly kids used to whine. Especially when I used to teach basic taxes. Not much of that anymore.”
Greg looked wondrously at the growing Melting Cube, chuckling to himself again.
“Death and taxes. If one can disappear, can the other?”
“I think they were keeping one another in balance.”
“That must have been where we went wrong. You can teach basic taxes to restore some order.” Greg said, pounding his staff on the ground importantly.
I gave him a double take. “What? You’re joking right?”
“No. Give it enough time, people will want anything novel. Even a memory of the worst of the past. They’ll appreciate it. Make sure to stay brushed up on it. We’re counting on you.”
I never suspected anyone to count on me for my career, but there I was with the leader placing his hand on my shoulder, chuckling his leader-chuckle.