I'll never lay down the phone.

To Scott.

(I can call you that now, right? Considering I'll only be a student for another two days.
Oh, come on. I'll pay you in icecream pizza.
Please?
Okay, fine.
If it really offends you to be called that, just replace all instances of your name with
“Mr S. Henretty” or something.
I mean, you'll always be “sir” to me, so whatever, homie.
ANYWAY, THIS TOMFOOLERY SHOULD CEASE NOW.
ENOUGH.)

I don't know where to really start with this, so I guess the beginning is probably the best place to do such.

I remember distinctly the first school day of 2006. I'm sure you remember it vaguely too. My distinct memory is being over the other side of the room from this arsehole. He was operating some overhead projector and practically acting like Hitler. I recall thinking to myself “oh, what a fucking arsehole, this year is going to be absolute utter torture.”

Oh, how wrong I was.

Two weeks later, I come into the class, dreading the next hour. The person leading the class, however, had changed. Not physically, he was still the same not-so-young (heh) teacher who was there before. In terms of what he said, what he did, however, he had vastly changed.

I realise now he was merely revealing his true self.

Now there was this eccentric, extremely funny, quintessentially sarcastic British bastard.

I start liking English soon after. Coincidence? Maybe so. Maybe not. Over the ongoing year, I made a note of my own personal behaviour. Instead of being the shy kid who would hide inside his shell like I was previously, I started to emerge from the cacoon a bit. I decided to talk more, to go on a limb, to take a chance. To not be afraid of who I am.

I mean, when you've got an enthusiastic, full on teacher talking to you (not at you, as previous experiences had shown,) what's the point of holding back and hiding? Reveal who one is.

Eventually, to speed the story up, I ended up doing Drama, possibly as a direct result of this madman, possibly not. (I can't remember exactly.) I started leaning heavily towards the Arts side of the subject spectrum. I started writing more. Short stories at first, then poems, then scenes, and finally plays. I started being more experimental in myself and living on the edge.

Who do you think influenced this?

I know.

I distinctly remember one conversation from Year 9. I had recently read the Kafka short story At Night, which goes as follows.

Deeply lost in the night.
Just as one sometimes lowers one’s head to reflect, thus to be utterly lost in the night.
All around people are asleep.
Its just play-acting, an innocent self- deception, that they sleep in houses, in safe beds, under a safe roof, stretched out or curled up on mattresses, in sheets, under blankets; in reality they have flocked together as they had once upon a time and again later in a deserted region, a camp in the open, a countless number of men, an army, a people, under a cold sky on cold earth, collapsed where once they had stood, forehead pressed on the arm, face to the ground, breathing quietly.
And you are watching, are one of the watchmen, you find the next one by brandishing a burning stick from the brushwood pile beside you.
Why are you watching?
Someone must watch, it is said.
Someone must be there.

At some point, I had brought this up in class. We had a brief discussion about this, but it obviously resonated for a long time. Perhaps because I felt a connection with a teacher on an intellectual level for the first time?

I mean, I can still remember it vividly, in Technicolour detail, can't I? Surely that says something?

I'm sure you've heard that I've fought depression a lot. Or even just guessed it through your own observations. (This story isn't about me, though.)

What I do remember is that you'd always be saying some ridiculous joke or comment in order to make me and everyone around you smile. It probably isn't anything to you, but it is to me.

I decided recently that I may like to become a teacher. (I'm not entirely sure.) People laugh at this visual, but whatever. What you probably don't know is that this one English teacher who had boundless enthusiasm for the students was what influenced me.

You're like one of us, and that's what makes me feel comfortable in writing this, in talking to you about this. It makes me want to help you out wherever I can. I feel there's some debt that I owe. And there needs to be repayment.

(is whiskey acceptable?)

I have an immense amount of respect for you, Scott. But I'm sure you know that by now. And when you see some play or movie from me in ten years time, you know that it's at least a little bit for you. I don't think comments or criticism from anyone else about The Last Rewind really meant anything. I felt most in tune, most at home with all of your ideas. I didn't take them all on board, of course not. But I could see myself coming up with them. I'm sure you've noticed that throughout the past year.

To wrap it up, thank you so much for everything. I owe you endlessly.
- Liam McCann
29/09/09