the case for small talk

You only hear about how hard it is for the new kid at school.  You never hear about how hard it is for the mom of the new kid.

Last night was the first evening event since we began school in January.  It was the second grade's musical performance for International Night.  Neve could hardly contain her excitement as she brushed her nonbrushable curls over and over until she looked in the mirror and saw Erykah Badu staring back at her, followed with a, "perfect!".  If anyone needed to be doing a little more looking in mirrors (after a day of top knots and those kinds of clothes you can or cannot wear in any state of consciousness), it was me.  I pulled on my "nice" jeans, let my hair down, and slapped on whatever the appropriate amount of eyeliner & mascara is for elementary International Night.

I've barely met their teachers in the short month they've been there, let alone other parents or students.  I'm hardly shy, hardly an introvert, but sometimes I'm just a jerk.  I just don't want to make small talk.  I really hate the small talks.  I've met one mom from each of the girls' classes, and I'm perfectly content with that number.  (Bah humbug).  So as I made my way down the row of metal folding chairs in the cafeteria, trying to ignore the smell of the day's canned carrots & peas, I tried my hardest to seat myself strategically next to a large family.  One with a grandparent or an aunt... ensuring no one would want to speak to me.  I admit my attitude was in the wrong place.  But when I looked to my right and saw Neve's huge fro and excited smile, I snapped right out of it.

"These are memories they'll have forever.  Don't pollute them with your stinky mom issues, Dera".

Minutes after we sat down, the second graders got up to leave for a last minute practice, and I was left with several extra seats to my right and my left.  Oh heavens.  My instinct was to shove my way to the right, in the direction of the mom who seemed quite content to stay face-down in her iPhone, while making Fiona and her friend move to my left.  If I stuffed our jackets between myself and the iMom, I would have created a nice little moat of sorts.  But before I could gather the jackets and move to my right, a woman behind me yelled to an incoming couple, "Hey ya'll!  Over here!  You can sit here, and you can sit there!", pointing to the seat next to me.

No you can't.  That's my there.  

The husband takes a seat next to me, and I notice the cafeteria filling up fast.  There are almost no empty chairs left.  The wife takes a seat behind me next to her friend, while his legs do the thing that men's legs do often.  They make no attempt to stay closed, even if it means their knees are touching the knees of neighbors.  So I cross my legs to the left to give his man knees the space they think they deserve, all the while thinking, "at least you're not going to have to make small talk with him.  Take what you can get, Dera."

And then,

"Hey.  Hey, excuse me?"

I look behind me and the two mom friends smile big.  I smile a hello back.

"Is your child in the performance?", the wife to Knock-a-Knee asks.

"Yes.  Neve.  She's in Ms. Arlene's class.  You?"

Both of them nod, and the other mom says, "How funny!  I'm Arlene and she's Arlene too!  Huh, small world!"

"Oh wow.  Two other Arlenes.  How funny.  I suppose Ms. Arlene's last name is Arlene.  Not sure about her first name.  We're still pretty new."

They both sort of nod and shake their heads in different directions with big confused expressions on their faces.  All the second Arlene can say is, "Omp, yep... m'I guess", and the first Arlene cocks her head and looks at the other.

This is the point in the evening when you could hear the low rumbling sound of impatient complaining parents, not unlike the sound of a distant lawnmower or leafblower.  With the heat on, the emanating stage lights, and all those touching knees, it was getting warm in there.  The faint sounds of grandparents complaining about having to sit on a metal chair for too long were mixing with the sounds of husbands asking their wives for the 4th and 5th times when the show would begin.  Immediately after my triple Arlene introduction, the man next to me says to his wife, "Dammit it's hot in here.  Will you text me when the show starts?  I'll be outside."  I wanted to say, "If you kept your knee from touching me, I wouldn't be acting as a thermal conductor."  Instead I just shifted to the side to make way for him, as he shimmied down the row of other warm bodies.

Arlene seemed unfazed by her husband, and continued.  "So, wait.  Your daughter is... who?"

"Neve.  We just started in January.  And what are the names of your kids?"

"My daughter is Emmaline... and her daughter is...", pointing to the other Arlene.

"... my daughter is Lucy."

But to avoid small talk is to be a jerk.  And I'm too new to be a jerk so soon.  So I just decided to go with it.

"So.  Who are Lucy and Emmaline's teachers?"

The two Arlenes are now beyond the point of being able to hide their confusion.  They begin talking over one another.  "I'm not...wha-who did- I'm sorry- we're just... did we miss something?"

One Arlene, in an attempt clear up this tangle of whatever we were in said (slowly),
"We're in your daughter Neve's class.  Ms. Arlene's class?", half heartedly holding back her laughter.

My head is spinning as I've found myself in the middle of the world's most uninteresting mystery, "So.  You BOTH are in Ms. Arlene's class?  And you BOTH are named Arlene also?  That really is funny... three Arlenes."

The kids are walking up on stage now.  Arlene remembers to grab her phone to text her husband the good news that the show is about to begin, while the other Arlene taps my shoulder.

Arlene.  Both Arlenes.  I really just want to watch my second grader walk up the stage steps while she's still in that brief golden window of time in which she wants to wave to her mother.  Me.  Her mother, Dera.  You know, before I'm a social liability.  Before she makes me put down my camera and stop blowing her kisses.  Now let me look at her sunshine face without interruption, and let's put this whole case of the Multiple Arlenes to bed.  Please.  I'm fine with the information I've been given, as confusing as it is for you both.  Scan the group of adorable faces up there and find your kid.  Now let's all wave like hell, because in a few years, they won't let us.

... is what I wanted to say.  But I turned around instead.

"Um, Dera.  I'm Kelly", Arlene says with a smile.

"And I'm Lauren", the other Arlene chimes in.

A dumb look, 5 seconds, and a few stutters later, it all made sense.  They were just trying to tell me that they too had children who were in Neve's class.  Ms. Arlene's class.  There was but only one Arlene, the Arlene that binds us, and everyone else was just a mom.  A nice mom with a different name who was just trying to make small talk and welcome me into the fold.  I would've felt worse about how much I was beginning to dislike these two ventriloquist dummies, if the heat of embarrassment wasn't so great.  And the heat of my jacket moat.

I still have no idea what the appropriate response should have been, other than possibly apologizing for wasting so much of their time being so very dumb.  So I said what seemed to make the most sense at that moment.

"I guess it was just two Arlenes too many."

I don't know what it meant, or why I said it, but I knew it was time to turn around and watch the show.