Olga, The Teacher
Once she invited her entire class, 6-7 of us, to her apartment. I bought a flower bouquet for her and a toy bus for her 4-5-year-old son. I imagined how her son would not take his eyes off the toy until I handed it over to him, how he would jump up and down, beaming, begging his mom to open the box, and run towards his room to play with his shiny toy. On the way to her apartment, a classmate asked me if he could have the toy since I had two presents and he had none. I wasn't prepared to say no. I gave him the toy instinctively. I regretted it immediately, but there was nothing I could do. It was already gone, and he was holding it in his hands. Oh, how much I wanted her to know that the toy her son received was from me and not from this classmate of mine. The fact that she would never learn about the true gift-giver tormented me during the whole time I was there.
Now and then, her smiling face with short brown hair, her tall body, slightly heavy, wearing a sweater and skirt, resurfaces. I have this intense longing to meet her, sit with her, look at her one more time, and tell her what she means to me. I wonder how and where she is now. Perhaps she looks like one of those plump babushkas. Is she still in Kharkiv, living in the same apartment where I had been a few times? Or has she left the city like many others, fleeing from the ravages of the ongoing war?
How can I forget her kindred, cheerful look, her always-smiling face, her constant effort to understand everyone in her class, her patience when I ran out of words to express myself, her interest in listening to my stories, and her visits to our hostel when I was sick and unable to attend classes?
I have searched for her online multiple times. I have visited the university website looking for her name. I have sent a few emails to the university asking for her address. I have almost lost hope now. I doubt I will ever communicate with her. I don't think of that toy anymore; it doesn't bother me at all. What bothers me is that there is a Russian language teacher of mine, (hopefully) living somewhere, unaware of the fact that there is her former student on the other side of the globe who thinks of her now and then, longs to see her, talk to her, and tell her that she was the best teacher he ever had.