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I’ll Remind You – Miss Mary, This Swirl Won’t Work! A Second-Grader’s Birthday Gift, A Mother’s Disappointment, and a Teacher’s Lesson in Kindness and Memories That Bloom Like Painted Flowers
ILL REMIND YOU
Miss Mary, hereit just keeps curling the wrong way, whispered little Tom, his brush hovering uncertainly above the stubborn, misbehaving green leaf of his painted flower.
Youre pressing too hard, sweetheart, the elderly teacher replied gently. Try gliding it softlyas if youre stroking a feather across your palm. Like this. There you are! Not just a curla real beauty! She beamed at her student. Whos that for then?
For Mum! Toms grin was as bright as a sunbeam, now that the stubborn leaf had yielded. Its her birthday today! This is my present! The teachers praise gave his small voice a rare and glowing pride.
Oh, your mums lucky, Tom. But waitdont close your book just yet, Miss Mary advised. Let the paints dry a moment so you dont smudge anything. Tear it out carefully when you get home. Youll see, shell absolutely love it.
Casting one last affectionate look at the tousled head bent over the sketchbook, the teacher returned to her desk with a warm smile. What a gift! It had been a long time since shed seen a birthday present so beautiful. Tom truly had a gift for artshe really ought to call his mother and suggest art school. It wouldnt do to let such talent go to waste.
And, while she was at it, ask her former pupil whether she liked her sons present. Miss Mary herself couldnt take her eyes off those flowers blooming across the page; in her minds eye, the green curls seemed almost alive, rustling at the faintest breath.
A chip off the old block, that Tomdefinitely takes after his mother. Even as a girl, Larissa had a rare gift for drawing
*****
Miss Mary, its LarissaTom Cotters mum, came the stern young womans voice through the telephone that evening. Ring to let you know Tom wont be in tomorrow.
Hello, Larissa! Is everything alright? Miss Mary probed gently.
No, everythings not alright! Larissa sputtered. That little rascal ruined my entire birthday, and now hes in bed with a feverambulance only just left!
Wait, how a fever? He left school fit and happy, bringing your present
You mean those blotches?
Blotches? What do you mean, Larissa? He painted you such beautiful flowers! I was just about to call and see if I could help him get into art school
I dont know what flowers you mean! The only thing I saw was a filthy, flea-ridden bundle I never expected in my house!
A bundle? What are you talking about? Miss Mary grew more bewildered, listening as the tense voice fired off a jumbled torrent about muddy bags and ruined books, how guests left before tasting cake, and the scolding from a paramedic.
You know what, Larissa? Do you mind if I stop by? Just for a momentI dont live far
A few minutes later, with her old photo album full of faded photographs and treasured childhood drawings tucked under her arm, Miss Mary set off down her street. So much time had passedher former student, now the mother of her own student. Life was swift.
Larissa ushered her into a kitchen littered with birthday debris. Cake carted away, dirty dishes piled in the sinkthere, Larissa recounted it all:
How Tom, late home from school, dripped mud and water from his shoes and coat
How, from under his jumper, looking guilty but proud, he produced a shivering, sodden puppy that reeked of garbage! Jumped into a ditch of freezing water for him, after some older boys had thrown the poor soul in. Ruined books, sketchbook splattered with unusable paint, and within an hour a fever climbing nearly to one hundred and two.
Guests gone early, cake untouched, paramedics gruff rebuke for not looking after her son properly
So I took the mutt straight back, after Tom finally fell asleep. The sketchbooks drying on the radiatortheres not a sign of a flower left, the water washed it all away! Larissa huffed, arms crossed.
With every exasperated word, Miss Mary grew more sombre. And when she heard where the puppy had ended up, she looked positively thunderous. After a deep breath, Miss Mary reached softly for the warped sketchbook, stroked its ruined cover, and spoke in hushed tones.
She spoke of green curls and painted blossoms, of childish diligence and courage beyond ones years. Of a boys heart too tender to bear injusticeand of the bullies whod tossed that helpless puppy.
Then, quietly but firmly, she led Larissa to the window and pointed.
There, you see? That ditchTom could have drowned. Did he think of that when he jumped in? Or maybe he was only worrying about not smudging the flowers on that page he worked so hard on for you?
Maybe youve forgotten, Larissa, but I remember back in the nineties when you sat sobbing on that school bench, cradling the stray kitten you rescued from those same bullies. The whole class waiting for your mother so you could bring it homehow you hated your parents for throwing that flea-bitten bundle out Lucky, you all came to your senses in time!
Let me remind you thenhow you clung to your Tibbles, refusing to part, or Old Sam, the mongrel pup who was by your side all through sixth form, or that rook with the broken wing you nursed for weeks in the biology block
Miss Mary dug into her yellowed album and laid out a large photo: a delicate girl in a white pinafore, arms wrapped round a fluffy kitten, grinning up at classmates clustered nearby. Her voice gentle and sure, she went on,
Let me remind youa tenderness, bright and stubborn, blossoming in your heart no matter what.
She set beside the photo a faded drawinga little girl clutching a shaggy kitten with one hand, the other clasping her mothers steady grasp.
If it were up to me, Miss Marys tone firmed, Id hug that puppy and your Tom with all my heart! Id frame those colourful blotches! Because theres no better gift for a mother than raising her child with true decency.
She didnt seem to notice how Larissas face transformed, how her hands trembled as she clutched the battered sketchbook, or how she kept glancing towards Toms closed bedroom door.
Miss Mary! Pleasewill you watch Tom for me? Just for a momentI wont be long!
Miss Mary watched as Larissa, barely stopping to put on her coat, flew out the door. She headed for the tip at the far end of the streetnever mind soaking wet shoescalling out, peering under broken boxes and rummaging among rubbish bags, her anxious gaze forever darting back home Would he forgive her?
*****
Tom, whos that poking his nose into your flowers? Your friendcould it be Digby?
Thats him, Miss Mary! Isnt he just?
He surely islook, the star-shaped patch on his paw is still there! Ill never forget how your mum and I scrubbed those paws clean, Miss Mary chuckled warmly.
I wash his paws every day now! Tom piped up proudly. Mum says, You wanted a friend, you take care of him! She even bought a special little tub for him!
Youve such a lovely mum, smiled Miss Mary. Are you painting her another present?
Yes, and I want to put it in a frame this time. Shes got those blotches in a frame, and for some reason she always smiles at them. Miss Mary, can you really smile at blotches?
At blotches? the teacher raised an eyebrow. Well, maybe you canif they came from the heart. Tell me, pet, hows art school going? Enjoying it?
Oh, yes! Soon Ill be painting my mums portraitshell be chuffed! But for now, here Tom reached into his school bag and pulled out a neatly folded sheetthis ones from my mum; she paints too.
Miss Mary unfolded the sheet and laid a gentle hand on Toms shoulder. On the white paper sparkled vibrant colours: smiling Tom, radiant and proud, his arm around a black-and-white mongrel gazing up at him in adoration. Beside them stood a small, fair-haired girl in an out-of-fashion uniform, clutching her own little kitten.
And peering out from behind a bookstack, smile wise and kind in her eyes, was Miss Mary herselfwatching over them all.
In every stroke and colour, Miss Mary sensed a deep, wordless prideone passed from mother to child and from teacher to pupil.
Silent tears brushed away, Miss Mary suddenly smiled. There, tucked in the corner in twining green letters and painted flowers, hid a single word: RememberShe folded the picture gently, her fingers shaking just a little, and pressed it to her chest. The sunlight from the window glimmered across the room, lighting up the framed blotches on the walla kaleidoscope of colour and memory.
Well then, Tom, Miss Mary whispered, her voice warm with wonder, Some gifts never fade. They only grow, dont they?
Tom grinned, Digby gave a happy bark, and from the hallway Larissas laughtersoft and impossibly youngfloated in to join them. For a fleeting moment, the small classroom seemed to hold all the courage, kindness, and hope a heart could paint.
As the afternoon sun drifted lower, Miss Mary knew it for certain: some lessons you never outgrowand some hearts, stubborn and bright, just keep reminding the world how to love.
Is the Orchid Really to Blame? “Polly, take this orchid or I’m throwing it out,” Kate said, carelessly picking up the clear pot from the windowsill and handing it to me. “Thanks, Kate! But what’s wrong with this orchid?” I was surprised. After all, three more gorgeous, well-tended orchids stood in her window. “It was a wedding gift for my son. And you know how that all ended,” Kate sighed heavily. “I know your Denis got divorced before their first anniversary. I won’t ask why—I bet it was a serious reason. Denis adored Tanya,” I said gently, not wanting to reopen a fresh wound. “I’ll tell you the full story one day, Polly. For now, it’s just too much,” Kate said, getting a bit teary. I brought the “banished” and “rejected” orchid home. My husband looked sympathetically at the wilting plant. “Why do you want that poor thing? There’s no life in it. Even I can see that. Don’t waste your time,” he insisted. “I want to revive it. Give it some love and care. You’ll see—soon you’ll be impressed by this orchid!” I replied, determined to breathe life back into the drooping flower. He winked playfully: “Who ever turns down a bit of love?” A week later, Kate called: “Polly, can I come over? I can’t keep this bottled up anymore. I want to tell you everything about Denis’s failed marriage.” “Of course, Kate. I’m here whenever you need me,” I assured her—remembering how she’d supported me through two rocky marriages of my own… After all, we’d been friends for years. Kate arrived within the hour, settled in the kitchen, and for hours, over a glass of dry wine, a mug of coffee, and some dark chocolate, she shared the whole, tangled tale. “I never imagined my ex-daughter-in-law was capable of such things. Denis and Tanya were together for seven years. Denis left Annie—who I adored, by the way—for Tanya, who was just stunning. He was absolutely besotted, following her around like a lovesick puppy. Tanya looked like a model—men couldn’t help but stare. But for all those years, they never had a child. I figured Denis wanted everything by the book—get married, then have kids. Denis is private, and we never pried. Finally, Denis told us: ‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve booked the registry office. I’m throwing a huge wedding—no expense spared.’ He was thirty. We were thrilled that he’d finally settle down. But, Polly, the wedding date had to be postponed twice—once Denis got sick, then I was held up at work. It felt odd, but Denis was glowing with happiness—I didn’t say anything. Denis even wanted to have a church wedding with Father Christopher, but the priest was called back to his home parish. Nothing was going smoothly. It seemed like the world was warning us… The wedding was spectacular, noisy, extravagant. Here—look at the wedding photo. You see that orchid? Glorious, in full bloom. Its leaves stood tall like soldiers. And now? Just limp rags remain of it. …Denis and Tanya planned their honeymoon in Paris, but right at the airport, Tanya was barred from leaving the country—something about an unpaid fine. Denis swatted away these troubles like flies. …But then Denis got seriously ill. Ended up in hospital, things looked grim. Doctors were at a loss. Tanya visited for a week, then bluntly told him: ‘Sorry, but I can’t handle being married to an invalid. I’m filing for divorce.’ Polly, imagine my son—bedridden—hearing that. But he only said: ‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t fight you.’ So they divorced. But Denis got better—thanks to a wonderful doctor named Peter. And Peter had a lovely 20-year-old daughter, Mary. At first, Denis turned up his nose: ‘She’s just a slip of a girl—not even pretty.’ ‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve already had a model for a wife…Better to be happy drinking water together than sipping honey in sorrow.’ …Time passed. Mary totally fell for Denis—called all the time, trailed after him everywhere. So we tried nudging them together—day at the park, barbecue, campfire. Denis looked miserable, barely noticing Mary’s devotion. I told my husband: ‘It’s hopeless. Denis is still obsessed with Tanya. She’s a thorn in his heart.’ …Three or four months later—ding dong! It’s Denis, holding that infamous orchid. ‘Here you go, Mum—remnants of past happiness. Do as you like with it—I’m done with it.’ I took it reluctantly and basically ignored it, blaming the poor flower for my son’s heartbreak. One day, a neighbour says: ‘Kate, I saw Denis with that petite girl. His ex-wife was more glamorous, for sure.’ But then Denis announced, hand-in-hand with Mary: ‘Meet my wife—Mary. We got married quietly at the registry office, then Father Christopher married us in church. Mum, Dad, no big fuss this time! It’s forever now.’ I pulled him aside: ‘Denis, are you sure you love her? Is this for revenge against Tanya?’ ‘No, Mum. I’m over it. That woman is my past—I’m done even saying her name. Mary and I are right for each other.’ And that’s the tale, Polly. Kate finished her story, right down to the last detail. …Two years passed. Life swept us along. But the orchid? It flourished again—blooming beautifully after care and love. Flowers know how to say thank you. I met Kate at the hospital maternity ward: ‘Hi, mate! What brings you here?’ ‘Mary just had twins—being discharged today!’ Kate beamed. Denis and his dad hovered nearby, Denis clutching red roses. Out came exhausted but glowing Mary, with two sleeping bundles in tow. Then came my daughter, holding my own new granddaughter. Meanwhile, Tanya was begging Denis for forgiveness and a fresh start. …But glue a broken teacup, and no one really wants to drink from it…
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