The life that passes before Ada Hasselback’s eyes in the moments before her death is less flash and more slow motion—at least for one scene too commonplace, she thinks, to merit such an effect. She’s standing, defeated, at the front of a classroom, looking out at a sea of bored teenage Spanish faces. From the chalked words on the dusty board behind her it is clear she’s teaching them English modals.

can
could
shall
should
will
would
may
might
must

The students talk amongst themselves, oblivious to her inept attempts to interest them. At 22, with no prospects beyond this year-long post, she is already a failure. Her college boyfriend dumped her soon after she moved to Barcelona. She’ll return to Tallahassee with nothing to show for herself but the scars of self-pity.

A face through the window of the door at the back of the classroom. It brightens to recognise her. She brightens, too. It’s Adam, her fellow language assistant, from Dublin. He moves a hand to his lips, mimes going for drinks.

The film speeds up through the next few passionate weeks. She begs the divine director to linger over those blissful afternoon organisms in Adam’s mouldy studio in the Eixample—recalls how for many years after the smell of damp will stir her. But alas, what remains on the chalkboard of her dying mind are those persistent modal auxiliaries—can, could, shall, should. The vertigo of what might be, the devastation of what could have been.

Would you like to know more about modal auxiliaries, or other aspects of grammar? Check out my courses on jodieclark.com.