I am mostly raw. Bare bones adjusting turns to keep Spring winds from gusting through my rib cage and bringing about too many gasps from the floating head on top of a spinal column with slight curvature. Yesterday’s ravens made carrier pigeons look as bedazzled as a peacock – as they laughed mockingly at my forward (slowed, but still forward) movement to make things righted again.
At 12:23pm I received a phone call from the school…something, something full body rash…something, "yes, pick him up." Engage instinct. In less than an hour I arrived at a monitor affixed to a brick wall and adjusted my dress in the mirrored doors. I pushed the big, black button, wishing it were red and then answered the static-ridden “*garble, garble can I help you?*” from the wall box.
“Yes, I’m here for my son”. The doors unlock.
And as quickly as I am inside, the desire to get back out again jumps to the front of the line. I go through the motions though: sign the pink sheet, initial, date, half-smile, palm breath-check, quasi-admire art work that’s outdated, sigh on the inside, decide which one of the three clocks in the room I want to reference for the time (they’re each different) …and wait.
The waiting part gets the most response. Similar to visiting a zoo to find the lioness on the outside of the bars – you’re gawked at. It is the perfect opportunity for onlooker to throw supposition and what-if theories into the wind and see whose gossipy ad-libs are most favored. Like, “maybe they let her out on purpose?”. I could have saved the Monarks time by proclaiming them all winners and chewing on my arm or sucking on the end of my sweater sleeve. That seems too easy though. I’m not sure what my latest ailment by their count is anymore. I would have to throw the wow-factor in there if I wanted to trip them up.
I started thinking *maybe unkempt and woodsy…or becoming a deliberate fashion faux-pas…possibly painted and rail thin, make them think I’m depressed and medicated*. I stopped when I realized I had just described 78% of the population or thereabouts. Turns out that acting normal and keeping it together is more of a host for presumption than drooling on yourself or eating random paint chips. I had thought myself amusing for wearing dangly earrings that clanged against my necklace like wind chimes; certainly, straightening my hemline before being seen publicly would make them wonder. Eh, anyway.
I queried the art work for origination, read something about a “community of learners” and counted floor tiles on my way to the classroom. I waited again. And then two, three, four ladies came out, gave me the once-over and then returned to their learning den. Lioness. Outside. Bars. No words uttered, but I filled in the script with what I knew was being thought: “Oh, yyyoou’re his Mommmm, ohhhh…”. I almost wanted to do the thought-process aloud for them: “Now you take what you see and add it to what you thought you knew about me. Just like legos! See how they don’t match? Yea, that means that one piece doesn’t fit with the other one. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to make sure you have the right information to go with the correct observation, okay? Ohhkay.”
Not long after I had my son in-tote and we skipped out the front doors; saying goodbye to the wall box until our next showing.
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