Dear Parents & Guardians,
We are thrilled for you to visit our classroom this Friday!
Mrs. Ryerson’s room is the quintessential second-grade classroom. Each wall is painted a warm hue, upon which she has taped both exemplary works and those crafted by students who are trying their best, even if missing the mark. Behind her desk hangs a framed picture of the middle-aged educator with her students, taken the day these children first stepped into her room, under which the words “YOU ARE THE FUTURE!” are printed. And on one of the bulletin boards opposite the door is a list of this year’s “Students of the Week” along with the reasons they’ve received this honor (almost every student has received this distinction by now, and she has already found reasons to recognize the final three by the end of the quarter).
Our students have been preparing all week for this event and have come up with some great questions to ask you about your careers.
On the other bulletin board is a list of students with careers they want to pursue. Benny has chosen Fireman; Jill has selected Doctor; and Phil seemingly cannot decide between Police Officer and Teacher, though the latter cannot be read now, as it has been stained a violent shade of red.
Actually, as I helped them, I couldn’t help but think of the questions I asked during Career Day when I was a student here (eons ago!), as it was that day, when talking with our veteran fifth-grade teacher Mrs. Johnson, that I decided this was the career I wanted to dedicate my life to, and it’s still the best decision I ever made!
Below the bulletin boards, where so many dreams and aspirations have been celebrated in Mrs. Ryerson’s elegant hand, lies the educator who’d once dreamt of molding the young minds in this room, who’d made sure every student here somehow found representation and celebration on her walls. From her mouth, which always spoke words of encouragement and love, now slowly expands a bubble of spit and blood. Her chest rises once, twice—and then, it rises no more.
So you can see how important this day is for our students, and I know that might make you feel a little nervous about speaking on Friday. However, our children are incredibly kind and welcoming, so you need not worry!
Five years ago, Mrs. Ryerson’s beloved carpet was replaced by gray tiles, a decision applauded by the custodians and loathed by the educator, and lying atop those tiles now are the bodies of students and parents alike. Some are still writhing while others have been permanently stilled, including the orchestrator of this event, whose name will be shared across social media this week, whose story will be guessed at and disseminated as people seek the reasons why, the same name that has been posted twice above the boy’s lifeless body, under “Students of the Week,” printed next to Creative & Kind, and “Our Future Jobs!,” printed next to Janitor. In a fleeting thought, both darkly ironic and terribly childish in conception, the would-be custodian had wondered who would be cleaning up his mess, before putting the barrel of his father’s gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger.
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask!
Through windows where the afternoon light bathes this bloody scene in an almost divine glow, the few still alive here can see the media circus congregated on the same lawn where Mrs. Ryerson’s class enjoyed many days reading and playing in the sun. Now, there are parents gathered on that grass, police officers and EMTs, journalists and spectators, all asking questions—who? where? when? how? and of course, that all-important question, why?
We are all looking forward to seeing and hearing from you this Friday!
And they’ll keep asking those questions until soon, in another classroom, another day’s plans are interrupted by those terrible thunderclaps, followed by screaming children and then that awful, prolonged silence, leaving behind a bay of blood caught in the glow of a day that had once held such promise. And then the questions will begin anew, receiving endless answers that ultimately amount to nothing more than the continuation of this great nation’s future, whose flag hangs impotently above yet another massacre.
Thank you so much for everything you do for our children,
Mrs. Ashley Ryerson
For the last seventeen years, Tim Hanson has taught high school English, a passion rivaled only by his love for writing. His work has appeared in over two dozen journals, and he won Flash Fiction Magazine’s flash fiction contest in 2023. You can read more about Tim at TSHanson.com.
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Picture Credits: Raahima S.
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