She, with sharp features like an undone safety pin, slapped out the comma with her wooden ruler like a conductor's baton.
Hawk like she'd swoop on innocent charm over cringing shoulders and crack down wood on timber desks.
'That - needs - a - comma - or - full - stop', she would beat out, 'why - don't - you - listen - next - time?'
With that, penned knuckles were slapped with the flat side of 12 inch pine.
As tears of humiliation rolled down uncontrollably and spatted on neat fountain pen sentences, I would lose myself in the bleeding shape of blue ink as it blotted and blurred yet more of my fragile understanding.
Wiping away embarrassment, I vowed to use a sharp pencil next time and this not to rub out my mistakes, but hers!