Gemotions

"She was *your* teacher?" Emily said, her voice a little too loud in the quiet kitchen. Her husband, Ben, merely nodded, stirring his coffee. He seemed unperturbed. Emily, however, felt a current running through her, a mixture of bewilderment and something else she couldn’t quite name.

"But... she hasn't changed," she stammered, thinking of Mrs. Bloom, her son's fourth-grade teacher. Ben just shrugged. "People get older, Em."

She replayed in her head how Mrs. Bloom had been so attentive to her lessons, how she had once scolded her for talking in class. That same smile, the same gentle tone. It was as though time had bent around Mrs. Bloom, leaving her unchanged.

She began to pace the kitchen, her mind churning. She felt an uncontrollable urge to ask Ben all the things, to understand this absurd coincidence. Why this teacher? Why now? He continued to read his paper, oblivious. She decided that on the way to school she would ask Mrs. Bloom if she remembered her.