Stan (fiction).... A short story

Stan stared at the score board in utmost disbelief. His score was less than his shoe size, and this had happened in past released results in the session. He had always prided himself on being one of the best students in his class, and his friends would troop in for tutorial classes, which he always obliged as he had a passion for teaching. The young Stan at age twenty one already earned the title 'professor' among his colleagues and teachers would often use him as an epitome of academic scholar. Right before his eyes, even if he was going to be a tutor in his favorite subject, mathematics, as he hoped someday, the red marks were not going to help him. Some of his concerned colleagues would ask what went wrong, while a few would gossip behind him. He had excellent results up until his final year in college and could not point to the cause of his recent bad results. All he knew was that he usually went blank in the examination hall, unable to recall what he knew or read.

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Dusk hastily crept around him, beginning to mask his image cast upon the board glass where the result was pasted. It was the best time to check the result when other colleagues would be absent, for he nursed the fear of being laughed at by those he would meet there, even though he knew some others would have purposely checked out his result without him requesting them to do so on his behalf. He could still see in the glass a reflection of himself, doubting if he was actually the one that showed in it. His eyeballs looked bigger behind the eyeglasses that reflected in the glass board, and his face could not afford a smile despite an attempt to assure him that he would be fine. He adjusted his eyeglasses and squinted his eyes to confirm that the result was his.

"Stan?" a male voice behind him called out.
He turned, looked at the direction the voice came from, and there stood Mr. Philip, his favorite tutor and equally, the instructor of his best course, mathematics. He needed to ‘compose himself and make his smile more real this time around’, he thought as he hastily walked towards his subject instructor.

"Good evening, Mr. Philip, I did not know you were still in the office." Stan said, stretching his hand to hold Mr. Philip’s bag towards his car. He always admired his subject instructor, who was in his early forties and taught the subject patiently and in detail.

"Come with me." Mr. Philips said, turning back towards his office after he gave his bag to Stan to carry. Stan trod behind him, thinking a thousand and one things at the same time, wondering especially why Mr. Philip led him to his office.

"Sit down, Stan." He said this, pointing to the visitor’s chair across his table. "Your grades have been terrible, and not just in my subject; is there something you care to share about?"

"I…" Stan began to say something, but the words would not come out as he desired. Tears quickly welled up in his eyes, knowing fully well that his tutor was right, his grades had declined, and he had a slim chance of graduating even as an average student. Stan managed to look up at Mr. Philip, who patiently waited for him to compose himself while he struggled to put his tear glands in check. "Whenever I am in the examination hall, I do not recall what I studied prior to the examination. I cannot explain, but I tend to go blank, sir." Stan’s voice trembled.

"I knew something had to be wrong; you’ve been among the brightest, and I have seen your classmates hover around you for tutorials." Mr. Philip said, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his table. "Okay, I’ll schedule a meeting with the head of department, and we’ll find something to do to help you, but you must keep it a secret.

That moment heralded Stan’s academic return to glory. He made sure he sat for his examination just like every other student did. What his classmates did not know was that Stan submitted blank answer sheets in his answer booklet and had a private make-up examination under the supervision of different subject instructors and the head of department, who was kind enough to concede to Mr. Philips’ observation, suggestion, and request concerning Stan.

Stan eventually concluded his college examinations and performed above average, having to make up for his previous poor grades. On his valedictory sendoff from high school, he got a weird note left in his school bag by an unknown person.

Hey Stan, I hope you forgive me for what I am about to confess to you. I am responsible for your poor grades in your examinations. I engaged the service of a traditionalist who ensured you were unable to recall anything during the examinations, and as long as we sat in proximity, the charm was sure to work. I really do not know how you succeeded despite my charm. I was jealous of how our classmates flocked around you for tutorials, making those of us struggling feel like we were not worth the fame. I am ashamed to disclose my identity, but I hope you can find a place in your heart to forgive. Remember to enjoy the comfort of riding to the top with fewer attractions and distractions in the future.

Stan squeezed the piece of paper as a teardrop attempted to force its way down his cheek as he recalled how he devoted himself. He walked up to Mr. Philip’s office and gave him a hug when he entered. He showed him the note after he released his hold on him. This time around, the tears flowed freely, but they were of joy and gratitude.

"I’m glad you'll be free eventually. This should not deter you from being the good person you are; only be careful not to attach too much attention while you journey through life." Mr. Philips said

"Congratulations on your graduation! I hope you’ll come visit your alma mater someday."

Definitely, sir, thank you for believing in me and being there for me." Stan said, wiping off his tears.