The bus slowed down to a stop, inches from where I was standing on the sidewalk. The doors open, Fiona disembarked first, all smiles, skip in step. Neve followed close behind, head hung, dragging her bookbag behind her and down the steps of the bus as if to say, "thump-worst... thump-day.. thump-ever".
Before Neve's feet had completely touched the pavement, she was already in tears.
We proceeded down the driveway in a moving hug. This was not our usual after school greeting, especially from this kid- my little school-lover.
It took a good 2-3 minutes of hugging and hair petting for her to regain composure and articulate what could warrant such heartbreak. "It had to be something really bad", I thought, as my mind always races to the darkest places first.
Me: "Neve, Neve, calm down. Talk to me. What happened?"
*** mini backstory ***
"So-and-so moved his clip today to RED, and so-and-so moved her clip to YELLOW! So-and-so never gets in trouble, but she was not listening while we were in line, so she had to move it. Poor ole so-and-so... but I guess she should've been a better listener", she would say, shaking her head in a ham-fisted sympathetic way.
It was her invisible medal of honor. She had never moved her clip. She sat removed from the childish antics of her classmates, taking it all in like a journalist during war time... eager to share her reportings with me at the end of a school day. While she never just came right out with it, I think she thought she was immune to such punitive measures.
*** end of backstory ***
Neve: "You're going to be so mad at me..."
Me: "I don't think I will. You can tell me."
Neve: "I... (gasping for air)... moved... (gasp)... my clip... (sob)."
I jockeyed between consoling her and pressing for details.
Eventually she was able to explain how such an awful thing could've happened, obviously the result of a bigger injustice. Something about the kids around her chatting, keeping her from being able to hear her teacher's instructions for the game they were about to play, which in turn led to her presumably doing something she shouldn't have, ultimately singling her out and being asked to manually move her clip from the taken for granted green light position to the now second-guessing-everything yellow light position. I recall her even resorting to this reasoning, "Maybe Mrs. L was having a bad day. Or maybe she wasn't feeling good."
Me: "Honey, did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, you did something wrong?"
Neve: { blink, blink }
Me: "Listen, I know you are a good girl. And I know it means a lot to you to be good at school. But no one is perfect. Sometimes, even when you think you are doing things right, you can find yourself in trouble. Like remember the time I was pulled over by the police man for having an expired tag? Even though I didn't mean to forget to renew my tag, I was still wrong. In the same way, maybe you didn't mean to be a poor listener at that moment, but you just were. It's not the end of the world. You paid the price by moving your clip, and now it's over. I'm not mad."
Neve, obviously annoyed by how I made light of the situation, replies cooly: "Have you ever had to get up in front of everyone and walk to the front of the room? In front of everyone? And make yourself not cry while you move your clip? In front of everyone? And when your friend asks you at lunch why you're sad, and you think you're going to cry but you really don't want to look like a cry-baby? In front of everyone? I waited all these hours to cry- worst day of my whole life!"
Me: "In front of everyone?"
Fiona: "It's okay, Neve. I've done it a bunch."
Me: "Wait. What? You've moved your clip a bunch? For what!? Why didn't you tell me?"
Fiona: "For not listening or not following directions. And every time I move it, the less I want to cry, so. It gets easier, Neve."
I will spare you the details of the conversation that resulted from Fiona's remark (a post unto itself), but rest assure, Neve wouldn't know if it gets easier. She has made it her job to never ever move her clip again. She has had night terrors and night sweats over this (not kidding); nightmares about the nightmare. She wrote her teacher multiple apology letters that weekend, and she begged me to make her a batch of cookies for added insurance (Mama's little sycophant).
It got so bad that Terry and I had to actually tell her to loosen up. It's like Cheech and Chong gave birth to Alex P. Keaton.
*** To be Continued... A Tale of Two School Days: Day Two (Fiona's Turn) ***
1 comment:
oh my god, i love her. i love them both for different reasons. if only lola felt more pressure to listen and be perfect in school! haha! great story. last line is brill.
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