School Tomorrow
Last night, the first night in I don't know how long, (maybe
never), that both the children were in bed and asleep at 8:45, I
was sweeping the bathroom floor. It seemed it had not been too
long since the last time I had done it. But it must have been a
while, because out from under the lip of the sink cupboard, I
swept a fat black beetle…dead. Not just dead but hollow, his
overturned body making an empty scratch-scratch on the new
linoleum floor.
And suddenly I felt like crying. How had time slipped by
so fast? When I wasn't looking, between the last time I swept
and this, a rather large bug had taken up residence in my
bathroom. Perhaps lived his whole life there under the edge of
my sink, died and decayed there.
And I realized, again, how quickly time is slipping through
the hourglass of my life. It only took a moment to understand
that my sorrow had little to do with this bug.
Tomorrow morning at 10:30, a tiny/huge yellow school bus
will pull to a stop at the end of the drive. I will be waiting
there, the small hand of my firstborn tucked into mine. We will
climb the steps together. I will let him pick our seat. We'll
stash his little backpack underneath, on the floor. Side by
side, we'll ride the 2-˝ blocks to the little schoolhouse.
Once inside, we will find the cubby with his name in fat,
black, block letters and hang his coat, the blue one with Cookie
Monster, on the hook below. We will find his little chair, at
his little table. I will be smiling, (on the outside), proud.
I will tell him what a big boy he is now, going to school. We
will stay for lunch, I and the other parents. And then, at
12:30, while our children, my baby, is busy making friends and
drawings with chubby crayons, I will give a little wave and
slowly withdraw, leaving him to the care of God and strangers.
I will walk home, alone, the scratch-scratch of my empty,
hollow heart echoing in my ears.
Just where did the time go?
(c) Stacy Jordan All Rights Reserved
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