The Blower

I am in my school building, listening the blower of the furnace, there is no other sound. Except the clicking of my typewriter keys ; for a second I am surprised I am the first person here. Then I remember that most of the others have professional development meetings at other places. A white car had pulled up in the parking lot a few seconds after I did, but no one got out. When I turned to make sure my car lights were off, I noticed their car lights were still on. They must be waiting for someone, or talking on a phone or something. They were parked askew. The silence of the school, with no other people is intimidating. Still I hear the blower, gentle, rhythmic. By this time I am usually greeting people as they sign in for the day, across from my office. I think I hear the sound of a door, but I am mistaken. The blower and I are the only ones here. A big, dark, empty building, sad and sorry without her students, I feel for her on this long weekend. What does she do for three day without her children? Without laughter? Without smiles? Without joy? The blower is struggling to be heard, aware now, that maybe for the first time he is being heard. I look at the large teddy bear sitting with her head against my computer monitor and I smile. I move the fluffy stuffed tan bear with the brown paws and the black and brown eyes to my right, On my desk, where she can sit and watch me type. Feeling less alone now, I listen to the soothing Sound of the gentle blower, who is maybe being understood, and appreciated for the very first time.