Forty-Eight Hours
In April I stood in a corridor and told our counsellor that a little girl was falling asleep at her desk.
That took me about forty seconds and she was on her way somewhere.
I have thought about those forty seconds every day since February.
I did not sit down.
I did not put it in writing to her.
I did not go to the principal.
I did not telephone the mother, whose number was in the system and who I had met twice and who I liked.
I did what teachers do, which is mention it, and mentioning it is not the same as raising it, and I have spent twenty-six years telling myself it is.