...17 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:
5.September.2018

The Freshman, 15: My alarm chimed at 4:30am ("Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman as a riff on my lack of sleep) and I made it from bed to kitchen with nary a misstep...where I then stood in front of an open refrigerator in complete fog...contemplating lasagna.

Yes, lasagna.

And cake.

And finally, the fog cleared a bit and my brain woke up and remembered...breakfast.

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

Alarm #2-"Transformers"

"The Son Also Rises"

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

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.

Breakfast...refills...shower...alarms every two minutes as I knock on the bathroom door signalling 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's my replacements? Wait...one last spot I didn't look...Found it! (Pat myself on the back for being a genius...ha!)

He's ready-ish...still teeth to brush (sensory processing dysfunction anyone?) and hair to brush (ditto).

Alarm #3-"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 drive 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. He chatters on about his latest design, 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. We make our way across, aware of the annoyed drivers stopped in their morning commute. 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. The driver mumbles at me...something about when and where to expect him later on. I smile, nod, wave...walk back across the street to wave and smile as the bus pulls away. 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. 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.

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. 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...a toddler...a kindergartener...a 6th grader...a guest speaker at Rutger's. If I close my eyes, he's all the boys he's been before...and when I open them...he's all the ones he's yet to become.