Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Eight
I hear a lot of rustling. They better not be eating candy.
The irony of spending hours collecting stuff that I ultimately just want to throw away.
Scones. It’s still so dark. I am still thinking of last night and the feelings and reminding myself that I did and am doing the best I can.
Weak decaf coffee in a styrofoam cup. White, shiny tile floor. Gray light pouring in through tall windows. It’s a quiet morning in the dealership. It takes way less time to sell a car than it does to buy it. I’m going to miss those gigantic cup holders.
The nervous excitement in his voice. Sometimes we dreamers guard our dreams a little too fiercely.
I meet with all the teachers. Everyone expresses disappointment and sadness in them leaving. I’m still so new to this school that I can’t really find any of the classrooms. I fill out the paperwork for withdrawal. “Next Wednesday,” I say.
Homemade spaghetti sauce, chianti classico, two extra children at the dinner table. I am telling myself to remember that this feels good. That even though I think I can’t handle the energy of extra children, that I can find the joy in feeding them a good meal. That having a table full of laughter is a great thing. And I hope that our table continues to be one where kids feel comfortable being themselves.
Resting bitch face probably also doesn’t help very much.
It’s our last Thursday.