>It was my old middle school
>at about five in the afternoon
>The exterior is exactly like I remember, shabby, in ill repair despite being a private school.
>Now moving toward one of the classrooms
>Inside now and holy shit
>Decked out like a 19th century manor
>It's physics this period
>"Take a seat" she says.
>I move to the hearth where the bags are all placed
>My bag, of which I was unaware, is now among them
>Randomly, about the floor, Einstein's "Theory of relativity" atop Marx's "Das Kapital"
>All ways stacked perfectly in this order, first editions
>On my knees I shuffle to pick a pair from the crowd
>"Why aren't we reading this" with the cover of "Das Kapital" facing to my teacher
>bluntly "This is Physics"
>"What about the other one?"
>"What other one"
>This remark distresses me greatly
>I look down holding the tomes in my hands aside
>Tears fill my eyes
>I put both on the floor now the same way I held them, retrieving my exercise book from my bag as well as stationary
>I sit with my teacher at a large round table
>With us eight or so children
>All stereotypical portrayals of pre-war British primary school children
>Large heads, blonde hair slicked back or neatly pushed back with a hair-band
>I open my book to see exercises that I had done to calculate the area of a triangle
>I severely hate my teacher now for some reason
>I collapse back to the floor desperate to read Marx's work and Einstein later
>I know I can't read them without knowing the prerequisite stuff
>So much to go through before the final treat
>This though stirs me horribly
>"What are you doing Jack?"
>Light floods the room
Why do I dream such things?