Grammar

by C.A.

I’ve always enjoyed writing. And I’ve always enjoyed teaching writing even more. When a child- no, not just a child- when anyone learns the magic of written communication, a whole new world is exposed and laid bare to them. Both millennia of priceless wisdom and pamphlets of the freshest, most radical of ideas of the present day are made available. One is knighted with the weapon of the pen.

Then again... We are all children, are we not?

I’m not what you’d call an especially talented writer. I possess neither the lovely poetic enthusiasm that defined Jehan nor the raw fiery eloquence of my dear friend Michel Enjolras. However, I do flatter myself with the fact that I can get a point across and back it up sufficiently. At least, I hope that I can.

Enjolras aside (if that phrase is at all possible for anyone who has known the man), I have to say that out of my group of friends, none were held higher in my regard than Feuilly. That man taught himself all he knew. By no stretch of the imagination would one call me rich, but I manage comfortably and have had schooling at the University. Next to Feuilly, I’m a prince. Yet he was so learned; he did it all himself. If only everyone were like him, things would be so much easier! He was the exception, though, somewhat of miracle, one might say.

Of course, not all are as gifted as Feuilly was, or even as well off as he was. For the past couple of years, I’ve worked as a tutor. Some of it was with richer families; after all, money does not grow on trees and if food was being given out for free, I was clearly not informed of that fact. I also spent a good deal of my time tutoring children for low fees or for free. Those times remain dear and close to my heart. I do believe they did me more good than churchgoing, for I’d imagine it to be a rare case for a man to have witnessed more miracles than I. To be there at the moment when those black squiggles finally begin to make sense and have concrete meaning or to see the shining of a pair of young eyes when a new thought happens upon them or to feel the joy of having helped raise an innocent soul nearer to the light is an amazing and inexplicable experience. I have been blessed many times over.

But now the grammar lessons I taught to my beginning students seem to take on new meaning. I would call it a cruel significance were it not for the children who remain to someday take our places. One day, the ten-year old boy I taught to read might sit laughing in a café, by all appearances a shallow cad but actually possessing remarkable depth and conviction, just as Courfeyrac always did. Years from now, that thoroughly impossible duo of street urchins who I assisted in discovering the possibility that something better may exist may be inseparable soul-brothers as Bossuet and Joly were. Bahorel, Feuilly, Jehan- I’ve seen them all, not as the corpses they are but projected into the future as what they were. Even Enjolras and Grantaire, whom I know still live- for now, at least. I have seen them as well. That is my view from the barricade.

It’s difficult to describe the sadness that comes when one must refer to one’s friends in the past tense. So we must look to the future, as my present seems to be ending... now.

revolution | fan fiction