The boy played alone, concentrating intensely on the flight and fall of the stone, and only pausing occasionally to scribble furiously into the small notebook that he carried with him at all times. Occasionally another child would venture over to investigate or to tease, but the boy, for the most part, ignored any intruders.
The Teacher crossed the playground, stopping some feet away from the small hopping boy, so as not to disturb his game. He waited patiently for a few moments observing the throws and the scribbles and the hops, until eventually the boy turned to face him. The Teacher smiled when he saw that the boy had remained on one leg as he turned whilst still hopping, at the same time the boy, realising how silly he must look, put his other foot down to the ground.
╥Teacher?╙ The word was a greeting and a question all rolled into one.
At first the Teacher stood silent, staring intently at the small boy who, despite being only eight years old, was the most intelligent human being the Teacher had ever met. The boy stood still now as his wide eyes stared back at his Teacher, eyes that that were always filled with wonder; curious blue eyes with a sliver of green that flashed and twinkled, giving him an inquisitive air.
The boy and the Teacher had stared at each other for half a minute in silence before the Teacher finally spoke.
╥George,╙ he said, ╥I╒ve got something I want to tell you.╙
30 Years Ago
He walked slowly through the dry and dusty streets. It had been a long hot summer and he had been busy - very busy. He stopped at a kiosk and bought a newspaper, he put down the suitcase he was carrying while he glanced at the date on the front cover before folding it neatly and placing it in the left inside pocket of his jacket. He picked up the suitcase and carried on walking.