...the Freshman, 15...

It started with a facebook post, yesterday...

My alarm chimed at 4:30am ("Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman as a riff on my lack of sleep) and I groped around in the dark, desperate to silence it.  The book I had given up on just an hour or so prior took a nosedive off my nightstand and Katja Noel (she of the 9 lives and counting) scowled at me from the nest she'd made between my knees.  "Shhh!", I hissed at her and the book and the carpet and alarm.  She gave me "the look": the rolled eyes/eyebrow scowl that only teenage girls and cats (and teenage girl cats) can do, and allowed me to untangle myself from her bed. 

Remarkably, I made it from bed to kitchen with nary a misstep.  Remarkable, when you take into consideration that the floor is a veritable minefield of Transformers, Transformers pieces, and all those incomprehensibly sharp little discards of my in-house design engineer's scratch builds.  

(And this after...yes, after...cleaning it all up mid-afternoon the day before.)

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes, the kitchen.  4:35am-ish...

...where I stood in front of an open refrigerator in a complete fog...contemplating lasagna.

Yes, lasagna.

And cake.

More specifically, cheesecake.

Trying my damndest to remember the ingredients.

Then the fog cleared a bit and my brain woke up and remembered...

Breakfast. 

(Not lasagna or cheesecake, sadly.)

 

Coffee made...ouch, too hot, from reheating...the handle of my mug leaving a red mark on my finger.

Into the kitchen proper then....ingredients out, utensils ready, food prep underway.

While this and then that were frying and boiling, quick scroll through the phone for updates and emails. Silent groan at the inbox. Sip...calm...repeat. Fresh press of coffee, tea to steep, OJ plus probiotics whisked (ugh), water. Plating food, cutting fruit, tray ready. 

The phone gave off a warning buzz...vibrating a second before alarm #2 went off.  This one...audio clip from a Transformers soundtrack, with its own name: "the son also rises". 

(I name my alarms.  I'm quirky like that.)

I raise the lights from dark to dim and gently pull the cover from his face.  Whisper my good morning, then repeat it...louder by degrees.  He grimaces, eyes still closed.  Frown lines in the brow.  Slants open eyelids and clutches his bedding to him, burying his face in Henry Raccoon.  Something...some indistinguishable utterance...all consonants, I think.

"Good morning, love."

He's annoyed at my chipper...growls a "why are you being so cheerful?" in my direction, so I drop the pretense and hand over his coffee.

Breakfast...refills...shower...alarms every two minutes as I knock on the bathroom door signaling him to move on to the next step: soak, soap, rinse, shampoo, rinse, face, rinse, etc... Double check that the clothes are laid out-had to spend 1/2 hour last night going over options. Knock...2 minutes...knock...2 minutes...knock...

Finally the squeal of the water turning off and the "I love you, Mami" as he comes out. It's a question, not a statement.

"I love you, Mami?"

Meant to elicit the same response... 

I love you more. I love you the most. 

Not possible. Possible.

Not probable. Probable.

Inconceivable. Conceivable.

Incomprehensible. Prehensibibibi-bibbidy-bobbity-boo-I-Love-You!

 

I wash the breakfast dishes while he gets ready. Print out a second copy of today's schedule and write in the class name, room and teacher next to each time slot. Tear the house apart looking for his keyfob: the one that has a pill dispenser for his rescue remedy and another for his earplugs. MIA!!! Why didn't I do this last night?  Where did I hide all my replacements?  Wait...one last spot I didn't look...Found it! (Pat myself on the back for being a genius...ha!)  Onto the table it goes.  Check the list, then check it twice...Santa style?  

He's ready-ish...still teeth to brush (sensory processing dysfunction, anyone?) and hair to brush (ditto).  I have him squat down so I can reach the top.  Put the brush away and close the cabinet, giving myself the once over in the mirror and frowning.  How is there sleep in my eyes when I didn't sleep?

Alarm #3 calls from wherever I last left my phone.  The "Tokyo Ghoul remix" elicits a grin from him. The alarm name, "Beginning of the end", gets me a pair of rolled eyes.

We grab the stack I've put together by the door: pad, pen, glasses case, key fob, water bottle...walk down the driveway and contemplate: the meaning of life, the fear of navigating new hallways, and the ongoing existence of the same kids who bullied him for the past 9 years.   I check my phone far too frequently...noting every passing minute past the scheduled bus stop time. Worrying that he's been skipped. It's happened before.  Worrying that we got the time wrong.  Hasn't happened yet.  He chatters on about his latest design ideas, filling the empty morning with sound to drown out his nervousness. I run through my checklist mentally, then verbally. Step by step directions for him.

Brakes squeal as the bus pulls up across the street. I grab his hand...motherhood 101 makes me firmly grip him and say "look both ways" as though he's still a toddler.  He lets me get away with it, or maybe doesn't even notice.  No "Mooooooom...I'm 15/too old for this/etc..."  We make our way across, aware of the annoyed drivers stopped in their morning commute.  Aware that we are, momentarily, a spectacle.  He puts one foot on the bottom step, then turns..quickly...to peck me on the cheek...before disappearing into the shadows of the bus.   I feel the warmth his face left on mine.  The driver mumbles at me...something about when and where to expect him later on. I smile, nod, wave...walk hurriedly back across the street to wave and smile as the bus pulls away.   Wondering if it's ok, my waving.  Wondering if someone else is laughing at him because I'm waving.  My hand finally drops...sagging....my smile drops, too. I feel...empty...

One foot in front of the other...I walk...1/2 mile down, 1/2 mile back. The world is quiet. Just my footsteps on this stretch of road.   I see the golden glow of morning sun on the leaves and grasses. I stop and wait a while, watching a cardinal in the bush as he watches me.

I see a doe in the distance, back by the tree line...with her young one.   I see my shadow on the road and remember when his barely came up to my knee. My arms itch for a moment, the way they used to when he was a baby and I missed him while at work.

I touch my cheek, that spot where he pecked me goodbye.

I wish time would stop.  Would spin in reverse.  Let me live it again...longer, deeper.

He'll be home, soon enough. And I've things to do before the bus returns. Back up the drive and in to the house.  Picking up the bits and pieces of a busy morning.  Log in to my work-site while I refill my coffee. All the while my head is with him...my heart is with him. He leaves, and I split in two...

He'll be home, soon enough. With a list of things we've yet to buy. Teacher pages.  Supplies needed. Ideas he's had. Drawings he's scribbled while there. 

15.

Today.

At Freshmen Orientation.

15, and on to high school.

And my arms itch at the thought.

If I close my eyes he's a baby again.  What wonder!

...a toddler...a kindergartner...a 6th grader...a guest speaker at Rutgers...

If I close my eyes, he's all the boys he's been before, all the boys I've loved so.

And when I open them...he's all the ones he's yet to become.

He'll be home, soon enough.  Orientation but a 3 hour day.  I'll be there at the bus stop, waiting. 

He'll come home...different, changed, grown.  Some new information learned and processed.  Some new experience filed away in that computer of a brain of his.

The mantle of Freshman secure on his shoulders. 

~Leanna