NameTag

I walk into the anteroom, open my shoe cupboard and wonder, how many germs do my inside shoes pick up from touching my mud-ridden outside shoes? They touch the same surface everyday! As I step onto the “clean board”, I see a shoe cupboard nametag on the ground. Something…shi…ba….Ah! Hoshiba. Ground. I see the label staring up at me. Perfect label for the ground. But that’s not really what this name means. This name is a teacher that left recently. I don’t understand why or if she will be back. I didn’t really know her, except to watch perplexed as she became increasingly stressed, an enigma hidden by her frazzled hair, an influenza mask and bulky white coat. Can Home Economics really be so stressful? I start to walk away, but the nametag is forlorn, sitting there waiting. Who will remember it? Who even cares? Suddenly, I pick it up and stuff it in my pocket, half-surprised by the vehemence of my actions. I can’t allow it to stay where it is. No one’s name should be trampled on the ground. I consider this name throughout the day. Finally, I say goodbye and fervently wish it well. It’s no longer in my hands.