The little girl with the little curl
There’s a particular lesson each week that I don’t look forward to. It’s a one-to-one children’s class, not usually my favourites anyway, but this one particularly so. On a good day, the lesson flies by. On a bad day, I get the silent treatment. For the entire lesson. Not a murmur.
It means I end up treading on eggshells, never knowing what’ll greet me when the bell above the door rings, and then being ultra-careful not to do anything that risks sending the child spiralling into her dark abyss.
Having got precisely fifty minutes of nothing, not even eye contact, last week, I was looking forward to this week’s lesson like a visa renewal. I took a deep breath, and in I went. And it went swimmingly. An absolute charm.
Which left me tired and baffled. After the lesson I commented to Mrs C, “I think that child’s bipolar.”
To which she replied, “Or maybe she’s twins.”