Winter's End

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At a sign from the supervisor, a girl in the front row rose to her feet and went over to press the metal switch. Three unshaded electric bulbs flooded the study room with white light. It was so dark that reading had been almost impossible for some time, but the rules were strict: in October the lights came on at six o’clock in the evening and not a moment sooner. Helen waited ten more minutes before making up her mind. She’d been counting on the light to dissolve the pain she’d been feeling in her chest since the morning, but now it was rising like an oppressive lump in her throat. She recognized it for exactly what it was: sadness. She’d felt it before. She knew that she couldn’t fight it off and that waiting would only make it worse.

So yes, she’d go and see her consoler. Too bad if it was only October, very early in the school year. She tore half a page out of her notebook and wrote on it: I want to go and see my consoler. Will you come with me? There didn’t seem any point in signing it. The girl who read it would know her handwriting anywhere. She folded the piece of paper into eight and wrote the recipient’s name: Milena. Third table by the windows.

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