Mrs. Patterson Rang the Bell Early

Lyrics

The ledger was closed at two thirty-seven.
The blackboard was clean, except for a map of the River Thames.
The clock on the wall, a gift from the Royal Mail in 1924, ticked.
And ticked.
My fingers were cold around the slate pencil.
The salt air made the chalk damp.
I was drawing the Isle of Dogs.
Kiki was spelling out estuaries.
Three o'clock was the rule.
Three o'clock was the world ending for the day.
The light through the window told us there were twenty minutes left.
And then, the brass bell.
Not at three.
At two-forty.
A crack in the glass of the afternoon.
She picked it up, she rang it once.
Put it down.
Walked out.
No "class dismissed."
No "good day."
The sound went out the open door.
It flew over the gorse and the sea wall.
It met no other sound.
Not a voice, not a hammer, not a dog.
Just the wind and the waves chewing the shore.
An answer with no question.
Or a question with no answer.
Kiki looked at me.
His pencil was still in the air.
I looked at the door.
Her chair was empty.
The wind pushed through the crack in the window frame.
And we stayed.
We just stayed in our seats.
Waiting for the rule to come back.
Maybe she was tired.
Maybe the tide was turning early.
Maybe she saw a squall on the horizon that we couldn't see.
Pemba says the weather speaks first to the old.
Or maybe she just... forgot the time.
But Mrs. Patterson never forgets.
Never.
The clock ticked past three.
The light began to fade.
And the two children sat in the quiet schoolroom.
The map of the river waited.
The silence grew.
And that was the lesson for the day.