Short story: THE SUPPORT LINE
Tran Thi Bao Lien
Xuan Giao Secondary School, Bao Thang District.
An was adjusting the uniforms of the students in her class when suddenly Hoa rushed in from nowhere and dragged her out of the classroom.
Go on, man! Flower delivery! Go pick up the flowers!
And so, she pulled An along by the hand as if she were leading a naive younger sister who didn't know the way. Looking at her, An found it funny; she was so short and chubby, like a jackfruit seed, with such short legs, yet she walked so briskly that even someone with long legs like An had to struggle to keep up.
An signed all the necessary documents and received the bouquet from the postal worker. Suddenly, An paused for a moment as her eyes fell upon the flowers. No one noticed the change in her expression. Hoa nudged An's arm and urged her on:
Let's hurry.
For the past four years, Ms. Hoa and more than twenty other teachers at the school have become accustomed to An receiving flowers on this day every year. The simple reason is that September 5th is her birthday. No one is curious enough to ask who sent the bouquets anymore, unlike in the beginning. For everyone, things that are repeated become commonplace. Perhaps only one person is unusual, one person who keeps watching An with a wistful, distant gaze. That person...
Hoa's voice was high-pitched and shrill, her face innocent as if she were performing a comedy act:
- I really don't understand why someone as talented and beautiful as you would choose to stay at this school. Why don't you transfer over there with him? If you don't become a teacher, you can find another job, no problem. But, having your birthday on the first day of school means there's still a lot of fate involved. It's just a pity that...
She left the sentence unfinished, as if striking a blank space before An's eyes. An walked on listlessly, smiling inexplicably. Suddenly, her usually shrill voice dropped, and she whispered in a strange, frightening tone:
An! This bouquet isn't like the bouquets from previous years, is it? Why aren't there yellow roses?
Her sister's question weighed heavily on An, rendering her unable to move. An didn't know how she got back to her room. Placing the bouquet on her desk, she sat down unconsciously. An felt as if the room, just over ten square meters, had suddenly become strangely vast and long, and she felt tiny, lost in that immense space. Her eyes searched for the bouquet hanging upside down on the wall – the bouquet from this day last year. Time had darkened it, changed its color, but even with her eyes closed, she could still picture the dark yellow roses, the kind, the color of flowers she loved so much. She could still hear his words from years ago echoing in her ears:
- Because An loves yellow roses and Thành loves An, Thành also loves yellow roses. As long as Thành loves An, he will only give An yellow roses. And Thành is certain that he will give An yellow roses for the rest of his life.
His words sounded like the logical deduction and assertion of a mathematical problem. Now An could only smile bitterly. Perhaps her best friend's words from the other day were true:
- I heard that Thành has someone else now. She's three years younger than him, not pretty, but from a very wealthy family with high-ranking parents. I heard that if they get together, her family could easily help him get promoted to deputy head of department. And there's no one like you. Why don't you just leave that remote school and move up to be with him instead of hesitating? Now...
Tai An's ears buzzed, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Unconsciously, they touched upon a deep-seated memory. That day wasn't so long ago, four years ago, holding her university diploma, she felt like she was standing at a crossroads, unsure which way to go. Her father's voice was cold and commanding:
- If you go up there with him, don't even think about coming back to this house. Consider me having lost a daughter.
Her mother could only cry silently day after day, like an endless rain. Meanwhile, Thanh kept calling An, urging her to send her resume so he could apply for a job there. That's what it's like to love someone from a distant place. Thanh couldn't follow her because he was an only child. And she, every time she tried to leave, her mother's cries would rub salt into her wounds, and four years have passed, and she still feels like she's standing at a crossroads...
The day she received her assignment, it was raining heavily. She had to ask for directions repeatedly before finally reaching the school. Disheartened, she requested to stay in the dormitory because she didn't want to face her father every day. Everyone at the school looked at her with curiosity, predicting that she would only stay for a year to get her permanent position before being transferred to a better place. At that moment, everything felt so strange. She cried a lot. She never imagined her students would be all dark-skinned, blond-haired, matted children from ethnic minority groups, occasionally interrupting her and making her extremely uncomfortable. They were already in sixth grade, but they would constantly complain, tattle, and accuse each other, from losing a pen to encroaching on each other's seats. In class, she felt uncomfortable because of the pungent, musty smell emanating from them; on some hot, humid days, she felt like vomiting. At that moment, she remembered her internship days at a high school in the city. The teenage students, the guitar solos, the sketches of her portraits they secretly drew during class... all of that was a thing of the past.
Time passed, and she began to feel attached to the school and everyone there. From initially finding the principal confusing her, she came to admire him, especially since he would always volunteer to teach the lessons like "Comrade" or "The Poem About the Squad of Vehicles Without Windshields." An old teacher, a soldier who had experienced two wars, was reviving a time of hardship but also of glory and heroism. She cherished Hoa for her genuine kindness. She enjoyed confiding in Lan, her classmate, because Lan always spoke softly like an older sister or mother. She felt warmth in her heart from a certain gaze… And most importantly, she began to love the children; she became familiar with their slightly pungent, strong smell, which she missed every time she went home. She no longer felt annoyed by the complaints but recognized the endearing cuteness of her students. She was grateful for the fun activities that the talented literature student deliberately created to help her overcome her gloomy mood when she missed him. She cried with a boy because of a touching essay describing his mother's face. It was as if an invisible thread held her captive.
She couldn't blame Thanh because for all these years he had loved her and sent her the flowers she liked so much. He still hoped that they could attend the first day of school together. Thanh wasn't at fault for choosing the easier path. Maybe that path didn't have yellow roses, but it would have many other beautiful flowers. She didn't blame him...
- Excuse me, miss!
Thu kept hesitating outside the door, not daring to come in. An quickly wiped away her tears, trying to keep her voice soft:
What's wrong, dear?
- Teacher, the ceremony is about to begin, our performance will be the opening act.
An nodded to reassure the little girl and then strode towards the stage.
The children swarmed around her, chattering like little birds. They demanded she adjust her clothes, braid her hair, and re-attach her flower bows—they did everything, keeping her busy and distracting her from what she wanted to forget.
The introduction by the young presenter led An and her students onto the stage. An and her students' song and dance performance was a heartfelt expression of their love for their profession and for children. It depicted the image of teachers who persevered in remote areas for their beloved students; the barefooted individuals who daily traversed countless hills to reach the light of knowledge; and the innocent eyes of children filled with yearning for a brighter future… All of this blended into the lyrics, the melody, and the graceful, rhythmic movements of both teacher and students. More than ever, An understood that the path she had chosen was absolutely the right one. The music ended, giving way to a continuous round of applause from the teachers and students of the school. Before An could return to her seat, the students below rushed onto the stage, vying to present her with flowers. She was surprised to see the golden roses from the children's hands. Confusion and emotion overwhelmed her, and the jostling of the children made her feel disoriented. Yet, it was the children surrounding her who became her "support," allowing her to stand firm and accept their affection. And it was at this moment that her colleague presented her with a bouquet of flowers in her favorite color – the one who had always watched her with a wistful, distant gaze, only now there was something different about that gaze she couldn't explain. Could that, too, be her "support"? Support...!
Tran Thi Bao Lien
Xuan Giao Secondary School, Bao Thang District.
An was adjusting the uniforms of the students in her class when suddenly Hoa rushed in from nowhere and dragged her out of the classroom.
Go on, man! Flower delivery! Go pick up the flowers!
And so, she pulled An along by the hand as if she were leading a naive younger sister who didn't know the way. Looking at her, An found it funny; she was so short and chubby, like a jackfruit seed, with such short legs, yet she walked so briskly that even someone with long legs like An had to struggle to keep up.
An signed all the necessary documents and received the bouquet from the postal worker. Suddenly, An paused for a moment as her eyes fell upon the flowers. No one noticed the change in her expression. Hoa nudged An's arm and urged her on:
Let's hurry.
For the past four years, Ms. Hoa and more than twenty other teachers at the school have become accustomed to An receiving flowers on this day every year. The simple reason is that September 5th is her birthday. No one is curious enough to ask who sent the bouquets anymore, unlike in the beginning. For everyone, things that are repeated become commonplace. Perhaps only one person is unusual, one person who keeps watching An with a wistful, distant gaze. That person...
Hoa's voice was high-pitched and shrill, her face innocent as if she were performing a comedy act:
- I really don't understand why someone as talented and beautiful as you would choose to stay at this school. Why don't you transfer over there with him? If you don't become a teacher, you can find another job, no problem. But, having your birthday on the first day of school means there's still a lot of fate involved. It's just a pity that...
She left the sentence unfinished, as if striking a blank space before An's eyes. An walked on listlessly, smiling inexplicably. Suddenly, her usually shrill voice dropped, and she whispered in a strange, frightening tone:
An! This bouquet isn't like the bouquets from previous years, is it? Why aren't there yellow roses?
Her sister's question weighed heavily on An, rendering her unable to move. An didn't know how she got back to her room. Placing the bouquet on her desk, she sat down unconsciously. An felt as if the room, just over ten square meters, had suddenly become strangely vast and long, and she felt tiny, lost in that immense space. Her eyes searched for the bouquet hanging upside down on the wall – the bouquet from this day last year. Time had darkened it, changed its color, but even with her eyes closed, she could still picture the dark yellow roses, the kind, the color of flowers she loved so much. She could still hear his words from years ago echoing in her ears:
- Because An loves yellow roses and Thành loves An, Thành also loves yellow roses. As long as Thành loves An, he will only give An yellow roses. And Thành is certain that he will give An yellow roses for the rest of his life.
His words sounded like the logical deduction and assertion of a mathematical problem. Now An could only smile bitterly. Perhaps her best friend's words from the other day were true:
- I heard that Thành has someone else now. She's three years younger than him, not pretty, but from a very wealthy family with high-ranking parents. I heard that if they get together, her family could easily help him get promoted to deputy head of department. And there's no one like you. Why don't you just leave that remote school and move up to be with him instead of hesitating? Now...
Tai An's ears buzzed, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Unconsciously, they touched upon a deep-seated memory. That day wasn't so long ago, four years ago, holding her university diploma, she felt like she was standing at a crossroads, unsure which way to go. Her father's voice was cold and commanding:
- If you go up there with him, don't even think about coming back to this house. Consider me having lost a daughter.
Her mother could only cry silently day after day, like an endless rain. Meanwhile, Thanh kept calling An, urging her to send her resume so he could apply for a job there. That's what it's like to love someone from a distant place. Thanh couldn't follow her because he was an only child. And she, every time she tried to leave, her mother's cries would rub salt into her wounds, and four years have passed, and she still feels like she's standing at a crossroads...
The day she received her assignment, it was raining heavily. She had to ask for directions repeatedly before finally reaching the school. Disheartened, she requested to stay in the dormitory because she didn't want to face her father every day. Everyone at the school looked at her with curiosity, predicting that she would only stay for a year to get her permanent position before being transferred to a better place. At that moment, everything felt so strange. She cried a lot. She never imagined her students would be all dark-skinned, blond-haired, matted children from ethnic minority groups, occasionally interrupting her and making her extremely uncomfortable. They were already in sixth grade, but they would constantly complain, tattle, and accuse each other, from losing a pen to encroaching on each other's seats. In class, she felt uncomfortable because of the pungent, musty smell emanating from them; on some hot, humid days, she felt like vomiting. At that moment, she remembered her internship days at a high school in the city. The teenage students, the guitar solos, the sketches of her portraits they secretly drew during class... all of that was a thing of the past.
Time passed, and she began to feel attached to the school and everyone there. From initially finding the principal confusing her, she came to admire him, especially since he would always volunteer to teach the lessons like "Comrade" or "The Poem About the Squad of Vehicles Without Windshields." An old teacher, a soldier who had experienced two wars, was reviving a time of hardship but also of glory and heroism. She cherished Hoa for her genuine kindness. She enjoyed confiding in Lan, her classmate, because Lan always spoke softly like an older sister or mother. She felt warmth in her heart from a certain gaze… And most importantly, she began to love the children; she became familiar with their slightly pungent, strong smell, which she missed every time she went home. She no longer felt annoyed by the complaints but recognized the endearing cuteness of her students. She was grateful for the fun activities that the talented literature student deliberately created to help her overcome her gloomy mood when she missed him. She cried with a boy because of a touching essay describing his mother's face. It was as if an invisible thread held her captive.
She couldn't blame Thanh because for all these years he had loved her and sent her the flowers she liked so much. He still hoped that they could attend the first day of school together. Thanh wasn't at fault for choosing the easier path. Maybe that path didn't have yellow roses, but it would have many other beautiful flowers. She didn't blame him...
- Excuse me, miss!
Thu kept hesitating outside the door, not daring to come in. An quickly wiped away her tears, trying to keep her voice soft:
What's wrong, dear?
- Teacher, the ceremony is about to begin, our performance will be the opening act.
An nodded to reassure the little girl and then strode towards the stage.
The children swarmed around her, chattering like little birds. They demanded she adjust her clothes, braid her hair, and re-attach her flower bows—they did everything, keeping her busy and distracting her from what she wanted to forget.
The introduction by the young presenter led An and her students onto the stage. An and her students' song and dance performance was a heartfelt expression of their love for their profession and for children. It depicted the image of teachers who persevered in remote areas for their beloved students; the barefooted individuals who daily traversed countless hills to reach the light of knowledge; and the innocent eyes of children filled with yearning for a brighter future… All of this blended into the lyrics, the melody, and the graceful, rhythmic movements of both teacher and students. More than ever, An understood that the path she had chosen was absolutely the right one. The music ended, giving way to a continuous round of applause from the teachers and students of the school. Before An could return to her seat, the students below rushed onto the stage, vying to present her with flowers. She was surprised to see the golden roses from the children's hands. Confusion and emotion overwhelmed her, and the jostling of the children made her feel disoriented. Yet, it was the children surrounding her who became her "support," allowing her to stand firm and accept their affection. And it was at this moment that her colleague presented her with a bouquet of flowers in her favorite color – the one who had always watched her with a wistful, distant gaze, only now there was something different about that gaze she couldn't explain. Could that, too, be her "support"? Support...!
Source: http://laocai.edu.vn/goc-van-nghe/truyen-ngan-diem-tua-275660
