A story by Journey Hart.
It had been years since Axel had seen his old band teacher. By now, Axel had gone on to play in worldwide orchestras, had played for famous movie soundtracks, and had gotten fairly wealthy over the years. One thing often bothered him as he tried to sleep, however. He wondered dearly where Mr. Abrams had gone. He… he just wanted to say thank you. And so, he went to his old school. This adventure was disguised as a career day for the kids, and as he showed them how he played, he would discreetly ask how a particular teacher was doing. Unfortunately, he soon found out his favorite teacher had left.
This did not faze him, however, as he could just go to the office and ask them after class was over, and he did just that. With his trombone in his hands, he strode up to the office door, knocked, was permitted access, and asked the front desk lady about the old Mr. Abrams. Axel knew she knew who he was talking about since this particular front desk lady had been here since he was a kid, but she merely shook her head and told him she had no idea where he went.
He walked away from the school at the end of the day with his chin up and his arms wrapped around his trombone, determined to find Mr. Abrams and say thank you.
He resorted to his computer as his only means of finding Mr. Abrams, but every time he pressed enter, nothing familiar would pop up. The school website had taken him off their current staff page and his name seemed not to be important enough to make a website about.
You were important to me, Axel thought continuously as he searched unwavering. After a few hours, he stood from his desk and went to get his phone. An old classmate of his had kept in contact with him over the years and he wanted to see if they knew anything about what had become of Mr. Abrams.
After a few rings, Destiny picked up the phone. She was ecstatic when she found out what Axel was seeking and determined to join him after she was done with this solo part she had in the Florida State Orchestra. She put down the phone before Axel could ask anything about what she knew. This was not unexpected, she had always been hyper and preoccupied with more important things, but Axel couldn’t help feeling hopeless about his search. Didn’t he have more important things to do too?
You are important to me, Axel thought and brushed those feelings away. Standing, he renewed his resolve and headed out the door, leaving his trombone on the sofa and his phone on his desk. He didn’t quite know why, but this was a project that required his heart and soul. He just had to say thank you.
It was dark by the time he passed by his old church and the cemetery behind it. Axel knew Mr. Abrams had gone to his church sometimes before, but never as a constant member. Reluctantly and silently, he approached the graveyard.
He knew it was a long shot, that Mr. Abrams, if indeed he was dead, would be buried in this exact graveyard, but he needed to know. He wanted to say thank you.
He stepped into the graveyard, looking around at the surrounding tombstones.
Milicent Kirk, Andrew Peters, James McCoy.
Sherman Abrams. Loving teacher, father, and uncle. Influential in everything he did and always ready to extend a gracious hand.
Axel looked at the date of death, a blank face spreading across his features.
1950-2024
I just missed him, was all Axel thought as he knelt before the grave. He had no flowers. He hadn’t thought to bring any. He had no letter to place on his grave. He’d never written Mr. Abrams a letter, the man who’d been on his mind for so long. He merely watched the flowers that had already been placed lovingly in front of the carved farewell message and whispered two words he knew no one would ever hear.
“Thank you.”
And then he left.
The flowers on Mr. Abrams grave never wilted. The grass by his tomb never needed to be cut or tended to. The words “Thank you” drifted in the wind like a sweet melody that you couldn’t quite hum to. And Axel never visited the tomb again.
