What a Job
Here they are. All on one side of six years old or the other. Most with at least one tooth missing. The one whose mom spent hours French braiding her hair, the one who slept and peed in the clothes he wore yesterday, got up this morning and got himself off the school in those same clothes. The one sitting quietly waiting for the next direction, the one crawling under the table and the one tapping me on the butt for attention. There is a little group of boys at the cubbies exchanging Sponge Bob stories. One sitting with his hands over his ears, over-sensitive to a sound I can’t hear and he can’t tolerate. It may be a toilet flushing down the hall or a train too far away for me to hear.
Suddenly it’s there welling up from somewhere under my heart. Not a hot flash, but they can bring it on. Not anger, but the butt tapping may put me over that edge. No, a wave of love. Suddenly I absolutely love every child in the room. A love that extends out the window to the white birches against the blue sky.
I still for a breath, letting the children’s voices take over while I enjoy the feeling.
The door opens and the classroom teacher walks in. We look at each other and take a deep breath.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
There you go! Exactly! Nice vignette--a scene described, a sense of the writer, a lot of suspended material, and no irritable hankering after closure. Just: bing! here it is!
ReplyDeleteWhy did I make that so hard? I wrote two other pieces. I liked them but didn't think they were vignettes. I hope they fit in for another theme.
ReplyDeleteI don't know--a lot of people froze up over narrative which, really, everyone does every day. Vignette isn't as common, but it's not rocket surgery either....
ReplyDeleteAnd I think that narrative freezeup carried over for some people to vignette. Holy hannah, wait til you see what I have for you next week!!!
ReplyDelete