Mr. Jefferson was a history teacher at Thomas Jefferson High. He was not related.
He enjoyed staying after class. The school was empty and there was nobody to disturb him, so he corrected papers, or prepared lessons. Sometimes, he wrote stories in one of his numerous tattered notebooks. On one of those creative nights, his colleague Mrs. Black, the chemistry teacher, walked in.
“Mr. Jefferson, what are you doing here so late?”
“Ah, Mrs. Black, I didn’t know anyone else was around. I’m just… Well, this is kind of embarrassing. I’m writing a little story.”
“I didn’t know you wrote. What about?”
“This one is about a simple peasant lost in the woods. All he has is a bucket to lead him home.”
Mrs. Black looked at the bucket in her hand. “Well this is quite unusual. I happen to be in the exact same situation myself.”
Mr. Jefferson spent a short while staring at Mrs. Black and her bucket. Then he shook his head.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I said,” replied Mrs. Black, “I was lost and the bucket is the only thing to lead me back home. I must hurry, because I have bread in the oven. If I don’t make it on time, It’s going to burn.”
Mr. Jefferson looked into his notebook. He just wrote those words down, how could that be?
“Mrs. Black, are you…? Is this some kind of…?”
“A joke? No, Mr. Jefferson, I assure you there is nothing funny about being lost. Now, could you get back to writing please? I have a feeling my fate depends on your ability to give your story a happy ending.”
She walked out, carrying the bucket with her.
“This is very strange,” said Mr. Jefferson to himself. Then he got back to writing.
And they lived happily ever after. The end.