The Headmaster & The Boy There once was the headmaster of an old red-brick school, covered in ivy. A fine institution, parents from all over the land waited on a list just to have their child considered. There once was also an absentee student. Fate often brings two such figures together, but not in our headmasters experience. Oh no indeed! His students were sharp where others were sloppy, disciplined where others were chaotic and dedicated where others were flighty. All of them. That is to say, all of them...bar this one particular boy who seemed to come and go as he pleased. In the beginning his classmates would laugh at his antics, clap their hands and slap their knees in glee... but over time they began to roll their eyes and then ignore him entirely. After all, they were serious and he was not. And in the eyes of children there a few things less forgivable than standing out. Concerned, the headmaster sought to find the boy but to no avail. He then took to locking doors and windows and still the boy escaped him. Frustrated, he tried to council the boy and bequeath unto him his worldly wisdom. Nothing seemed to take hold. The boy would make all the correct sounds of comprehension and ask all the right questions. Only to disappear the very next day to play in the fields outside the window. Now, the headmaster was a patient and caring man. It was this that had led to the Stirling reputation of his institution. He could not, however, let this slide. In a way the boy was anathema to all he stood for. He was, after all, as exacting of himself as of his students. And so one day, he waited for the end of classes and sought to follow the boy home. For over an hour he watched the boy as he milled around in the exodus of departing students, joining in on games where he could, laughing loudest and trying to draw others in. Ultimately they would leave though to head home alone or collected by adults in fine suits and dresses. The boy was the last to leave deflating as his audience shrank. Eventually he slunk off, a shadow of himself, homeward bound. Through the streets and lanes he dragged his feet, going out of his way to deliver an exaggerated booting to a particularly kickable rock. Eventually he reached the outskirts unaware of the headmaster dogging his heels all the while. The latter was surprised as the boy approached a manor that reared unexpectedly and massive out of the countryside. He watched as the boy was greeted by a team of immaculately dressed (even by his standards) staff and disappeared inside. For a while he simply observed, noticing lights blooming to #life and being extinguished in the windows as the procession made its way through the house. Eventually he approached, pulling a large bell chord and waiting as the sound reverberated through the house. A genteel man of stiff bearing let him in, taking his coat and enquiring as to his purpose. As he answered his intention to talk with the boy's father he noticed the boy rush in, half bathed and full of exuberance, only to shrink once again when he saw the headmaster. He disappeared without a word, turning dejectedly back into his home. 'The boy's father? By whom you mean The Lord Ashford, is in the city and will be home at times unknown. You would be welcome to leave a message with me or make an appointment' the man intoned with the nasal condescension he must have spent a #lifetime mastering. The headmaster refused, insisting he see 'the boys father' that very evening. They stood deadlocked in uncomfortable silence until the manservant finally rolled his eyes and guided the headmaster to a stool near the entryway. For a long time he sat, taking in the opulence of polished wood, gilt frames and looted treasures. For a longer time after that he sat just staring off into the distance. It was late before the boys father made his entrance. Bustling into the home eager eyes shining, only to darken when greeted only by his staff. "He's..." "Abed lord, two hours past." "Ah...quite right, quite right." The mans eyes take in the headmaster then. The manservant explains and a light rekindles in the mans eyes. "You've come to talk of my boy" he beams. The headmaster's carefully wrought piece crumbles on his tongue. He tells the man only the things he wants to hear. Aware that here lies a private tragedy not his to disturb. A boy who longs for his father, and a father that sees his boy in all he does. Forever missing each other, as time and distance slowly take their toll. A boy looking for his father and a father who sees his son in everything he does.
