Michelle was her middle name; no one called her that
But me. I was in her history class,
And when my classmates called her “Miss” when classes began
And her first name after they ended,
I called her Michelle.
After class I walked with her,
Together to her office, then alone to my locker.
No one walked with me for I was a weirdo, no one with her
For she was the deputy, and being in a school’s senior leadership
Was an original sin. Not everyone’s tears she had dried like mine
In her office, the day I broke down;
To them she was anyone, from history teacher
To policymaker, to students’ nemesis.
Anyone but Michelle.
When Teacher’s Day came and I saw slurs
Written on her office door with scarlet spray paint, when those my age
Attacked authority for its own sake, when she the deputy was deemed
Inferior to a human being,
I saw her.
A daughter, a sister, a mother with a three-year-old son, a human being.
I saw Michelle.
And when I visited my high school
Years after graduation, nothing but an empty chair
Greeted me in her office. I was told that she
Left shortly after I did, but not where she had gone.
Back to university I went, as if I had any choice other than
Mailing a postcard, stamped but with the address part being
“Please send this wherever you see fit”.
Where I was supposed to put down her full name,
I put down “Michelle”.