The Pygmy Giant

by Shirley Assaf

It was the last evening in March, fine and sunny; I remember I was singing along with Sinatra as I drove to the college for a tutorial. Last time I had come this way was November and the rain and dark had conspired to make it a journey of peering anxiously through the windscreen.

I got there early, the tutor and I sat talking, then people started to drift in and we smiled at each other and said, ‘Hello’ and ‘How’s it going?’ – groans and laughter.

My mobile rang. I remember thinking: ‘Whoops should have turned it off,’ then, ‘Why is she calling me on my mobile? Strange, we always chat on the house phone.’ I nodded, then stepped outside the classroom, pressed the button and held it to my ear.

The floor was cold and gritty and I heard someone shouting and crying. I should never have answered the phone; if I had turned my mobile off maybe I would have stayed in the life where it never happened.

Shirley Assaf lives in Berkshire writing, studying and remembering other days and other ways.