A Passing Stranger

It wasn’t much of a job but the part time hours meant she could go to evening class at the local college. Everyday at half past eight she would catch the number ten bus at the end of the street, get off in Whitby Rd turn the corner walk the short distance down St Marys past the boys school then turn into Donald St. There on the corner was the solicitors’ where she worked from nine o’clock to three o’clock; five days a week come rain or shine. At three o’clock she did the trip in reverse but with one slight difference, as she passed the lamppost opposite the school she would look up at the third floor window. If she was lucky he would be there, Mr Wareing, the maths teacher.

            She knew only his surname and only knew that much because she had overheard the boys shout it out so many times. He always wore the same brown tweed jacket, the kind with leather patches on the elbows and more often than not a checked shirt. He would stand with his back to the window as he instructed the boys in the rudiments of algebra and other mathematical stuff. If the window was open and the breeze sufficient it would ruffle his thick slightly shaggy brown hair, occasionally she would catch him pushing it away from his face.

            Today the window was wide open as the weather had been unpredictably hot, and she could see him clearly, more importantly she could hear him.

            “Sampson we will stay here all night if we have too but you will finish your work before you go home is that clear.” He yelled.

            It wasn’t the first time she had heard him shout at this particular boy and she imagined him to be some scruffy urchin, sitting at the back of the classroom flicking things off the end of his ruler. The imagery made her smile as she looked up at the window. Today though for the first time in nine months she had been watching him, he turned, looked out of the window and down at her.

            She froze as his eyes locked on hers, she expected him to shout at her, to tell her to get lost or something, so when his face changed from a frown to a smile she couldn’t quite believe he was smiling at her. A quick check of the empty street proved that he must be, it was a wonderful smile too, and his eyes, ‘I bet there brown’ she instantly though, just like his suit.

            Then another thought went through her head, ‘what must he be thinking’. Breaking off eye contact she forced her feet to move and made it to the end of the street and round the corner before she dared even think about looking up again. All the way home on the bus she chastised herself for running off and not looking back, she should have at least looked back to see if he was watching her or not.

            It was several days before she dared look up at the window again, Friday seemed like a safe day due to the weather changing back to dull and grey, meaning he wouldn’t have the window open. Sure enough when she stole a glance it was closed, however he wasn’t standing in his usual position, he was looking out of the window, watching, waiting for…..for her, as she came into view he raised his hand and waved. Oh my god, Mandy gasped then realised she was waving back, her own body had betrayed her and she was returning his wave.

            Friday night was her Journalism class but she couldn’t concentrate, she kept thinking about the wave, was he just being polite, or did it mean he liked her. By the time she had daydreamed her way around the supermarket on Saturday, and upset several other customers by bumping into them and placing her shopping in there trolley by mistake, she had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t possibly ‘fancy’ her and that he was just being polite and probably actually thought she was some lunatic stalker.

            Monday was wet and miserable, her coat and hair were still damp from the morning soaking, so as she walked down St Marys, the only thought on her mind was the queue that would be at the bus stop forcing her to stand in the rain until the bus came. She certainly didn’t see the young boy come out of St Marys Large wooden front door or hear his feet splash in the puddles as he crossed the street to her, in fact she nearly walked right into him.

            “Sir said to give you this.” The boy said holding out a bright red umbrella.

            “Oh.” Was all she could muster in response as she took the umbrella from his dripping hand. But no sooner had she done so than the boy disappeared again.

            She tried to look up at the window but the rain lashing down prevented her from seeing anything, so unfolding the umbrella she held it over her head and tried again. There peering out of the third floor window were several tiny grinning faces and the smiling eyes of Mr Wareing, her heart skipped, ‘he does like me’.

            He saw her most days from the second floor staff room window; she would walk passed the playground gates each morning just before nine o’clock. The first time he saw her he was watching for late pupils, the next time he was washing his cup out at the sink, after that he tried to be by the window each morning to watch her go passed.

            Like clock work she would appear, from the direction of Whitby Rd and disappear towards Donald St. She always wore a knee length black skirt and white blouse, on cold days she wore a mid length brown trench coat but she never fastened the belt. Her hair was dark red and although it was quite long she always wore it tied back, he guessed the colour of her eyes to be green, and that she worked somewhere on Donald St.

He had thought about following her on more than one occasion but he was too chicken, what if she turned around, no he was happy just watching her. He had tried to see her returning in the evening rush but either she took a different route or she left later, so it had been a pleasant surprise to turn around and catch her looking up at him and smiling, hence he smiled back.

Taking note of the time the next day, he waited for her and preyed she would look up again; little did he know that she had been watching him each day or visa versa. However she just walked straight passed her eyes on the pavement and one hand holding tight to her handbag. Oh god he thought she must think I’m some crazy man, what can I do, perhaps this is best after all I don’t know her from Adam, she’s just some women who happens to walk this way to work.

The next day was the same, no glance, no smile; she even had the belt of her coat fastened tight. He had scared her, but how, with just a smile, more importantly how was he going to apologise if she wouldn’t look up. He thought about waiting for her at the gate, but if his smile had scared her she would really freak if she saw him lurking, waiting for her. 

Friday was cold, dark clouds roamed the sky all day and he almost didn’t bother looking out of the window, what was the point she wouldn’t look up anymore. When he did eventually take a peek at the street below though he got a shock, she had paused beneath the lamp. ‘Look up’ he whispered conscious of the class room of boys behind him, ‘look up’.

Almost as if she had heard him she slowly tilted her head up, and with out thinking about it or the boys he raised his hand and waved. He hadn’t really expected her to wave back; after all he was a complete stranger and probably looked like an absolute fool, for some reason though when she did his stomach did a funny flip.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her all weekend, and found himself doodling love hearts in the margins of the workbooks he was supposed to be marking instead grades. It had been five years since his divorce and without the complication of children he had been free to return to a bachelor’s life style, but instead he had thrown himself into the job at St Marys. His effort hadn’t gone in vain though, he had made deputy head last year, but something was missing, could this mystery woman be that something or someone.

It rained heavy all day Monday, belaying the previous week’s talk of an early summer. However the usual jokes about the pupils being chauffeur driven to the front door least they should get wet didn’t sound quite so humorous after watching her trudge passed the staffroom drenched from her tiny dolly shoes to her bedraggled ponytail. 

When it was obvious the rain wasn’t going to abate by three o’clock he sent one of the first year boys from his class with a suitably appropriated umbrella down to the front door. The boy had followed his instructions to the tee, however curiosity as to what ‘Sir’ was up to had got the better of his young charges and they all gathered around him to watch the scene below. The boys emitted a small cheer as she looked up at them from the shelter of the umbrella, Mr Wareing was silent though, for some reason his heart was pounding so hard all he could do was smile.

  To Sneak a bouquet of flowers passed his colleagues and into the school meant he had to arrive very early on Tuesday morning, getting the boy he had chosen down stairs and out on the street to wait for her had taken little more ingenuity though. However he managed it and the smile that emanated from her face upon being presented with them was well worth the effort.

By Wednesday she didn’t know what to expect, from the flowers it was obvious that Mr Wareing had feelings for her, but weren’t things going a little fast. She didn’t know of course that he had been watching her for almost as long as she had been watching him. However when this time she was presented with envelope simply addressed ‘Read me later’ she swiftly shared a smile and wave with her admirer before hurrying off to catch her bus.

The envelope had contained a poem, entitled, To a Stranger, it was by Walt Whitman and the first line read, ‘Passing stranger you do not know how longingly I look upon you.’  Oh but she did know for she had looked longingly for many months now, not even daring to believe that he would ever look back let alone send her flowers and poetry. 

By Thursday, he was consumed with thoughts and daydreams to the point of total distraction, not that his mathematically challenged pupils minded if Sir had forgotten the test he’d promised. Most of them were now more interested in the blossoming relationship between there Maths teacher and the mystery women to have concentrated on work anyway, and when the appointed hour came they watched just as fervently while Sampson took a single red rose across the street to her.

It was the ultimate symbol of love, a message from his heart, yet upon receiving the gift her heart felt heavy. This was all so crazy they didn’t even now each others names, not really, they were just passing strangers, how could he love her. This time she was unable to look up, if she had he would have seen the tears streaming down her face; instead she quickened her pace and almost ran to the end of the street.

“No wait!” he called frantically leaning out of the window and shouting again in case she hadn’t heard him, but she didn’t stop. It had been too much too fast he had frightened her again, this was getting him no where, he wanted them to meet but it would have to be on her terms or she would just run again, with this thought in mind he put pen to paper once more.

Friday was bright and breezy, however her steps to work in the morning were not, and he feared she wouldn’t accept the missive he had prepared.

When the young boy approached her with another envelope, she almost didn’t accept it, but the pleading look in the boys eyes won her over, this time it said ‘Read me now’

A collective sigh went out around the classroom as she took the envelope, now though they had to wait for her to read it.

It wasn’t sealed and the single sheet of folded paper slide from the envelope with ease. She was almost afraid to read it, she hoped it wasn’t another poem but even more she didn’t want it to be a love letter.

Taking a deep breath he pushed open the café’s door, and held it as he scanned the interior. It was quite busy and the evening sunlight cast long shadows across the Formica tables but she was there in the corner, waiting. Letting his breath out slowly he Manoeuvred between the tables and chairs inching his way closer to her. She looked petrified; nevertheless she had waited for him, just as he had asked in the letter.

Her heart was pounding so loud she couldn’t hear the conversations going on around her and she paid no heed to the hustle of the waitress and customers, her eyes were fixed upon his from the moment he opened the door to the moment he slide into the seat opposite her. The pounding stopped and the cacophony noise came rushing back though the second he spoke.

“Hi my name is Mike.”