He walked down the empty corridor looking at the pictures that lined the walls. Old youngsters laughed back at him, their arms around each other, huddling behind a rusty trophy.
He read the description. “Dr. Charlie memorial soccer tournament. Class of 1935.”
Charlie’s eyes unfocused for a second before focusing again. 1935 was a long time ago. More than sixty years after he had gone. He tried to calculate when he had died, but soon remembered he’d never cleared a single mathematics examination. Giving up, he walked on.
A little further, he stopped at another picture. It was a portrait of a woman clad in graduation robes, smiling wide in joy and pride. The picture looked newer. And the woman familiar. He squinted at the description that read, “Mrs. Charlie Yaxley. Senior Professor, Mathematics.”
Realisation shot through him like current. He staggered forward, reaching out. Just as he reached his arm to caress her cheek, a stern voice rang through the corridor.
It was Tracy, his maths teacher. “This is a huge museum, stick with the group or you’ll get lost.”