by EJ Valson
The two ladies on either side of me looked a little out of place as well – uncomfortable at the very least. One was holding her purse tightly and tapping her foot pretty impatiently. The other had a convenient store coffee in her hand, which she raised to her mouth to chug about every five seconds. I grinned and settled into my seat.
Rather than try to strike up a conversation with one of the other nobodies next to me, I set myself to people watching, counting on the main event to start quickly.
I stared amazed at the number of people packed into the gym. Rows and rows of folding chairs were touching each other, which meant the people in them were most certainly touching each other. It was obviously warmer than usual, due to all the tightly packed bodies, and the noise level was bordering on insanity. I wondered if maybe we were auctioning off hunky janitors or something, there seemed to be an excitement in the air that was nearly tangible.
I noticed a small table at the front of the large room, in front of the stage and under the basketball goal. Seated there were Charlotte, and two women I didn’t recognize. Other than these few, all I could see were the backs of many heads, all bobbing (gossiping) furiously.
Just as I crossed my legs to ease my already uncomfortable back side, I noticed the woman to Charlotte’s left begin to stack her papers and nudge her chair backwards. When she did, the tangible energy I had felt before seemed to dissipate slightly. I watched her closely as she made her way up to the small, clear pulpit on the stage. With every step she took, the room seemed to grow quieter, more focused.
She must be important.
When she reached the pulpit, she picked up a small gavel – so small it must have been the only thing sitting up there for me not to have noticed it, and tapped it lightly on the acrylic stand. I could, strangely, feel it.
She tapped it only twice.
On the upswing from the first hit, the room fell silent. So that there was no need for the crystal clear thud of the second tap, which I could also feel.
I looked around, only moving my eyes, and observed that everyone was perfectly still and attentive. The woman stacked her papers; unnecessarily, because they were already perfect, and cleared her throat.
I realized I wasn’t breathing, and took in a breath.
She looked up sweetly, and began. Her voice was soft and delicate, and she reminded me of a flower for some reason.
“As many of you know,” she sang in an almost shy pitch, “my name is Sherry Richardson, and I’m the PTO President. I’d like to thank you all for coming this evening and volunteering your valuable time for our kids.”
Typical. Yes. No surprises. This would probably be pretty boring.
Dang it. Forgot to breathe again.
For the next half hour, we listened to Sherry give a recap of last year’s fundraising numbers, contributions to the computer lab, community service accomplishments, and the like. Eventually, we shifted to projections for this year, which perked me up. She made it all sound so interesting, maybe I could find an avenue for volunteering after all.
“We hope to double our earnings from the bake sale this year,” she was saying, “a goal I think will be quite attainable.”
This is the part where I started inserting my auctioneer’s voice, expecting a run for the sign-up table or something. Instead, Sherry took a step back, making way as a tall, slender lady made her way up the stairs to the stand.
She flipped her perfect hair over her right shoulder and smiled.
Elizabeth.
“Good evening, everyone, blah blah blah . . . . . .” was all I heard for the next five minutes or so. I was too busy seething in my childish disdain for this woman, who disliked me for no reason, to listen to what she had to say. By the time I finally started to pay attention again, she was concluding.
“I’m thrilled to head up the event again this year, and I know it will be a success.” She looked over her shoulder. “And don’t worry Sherry, the doubled order will be a cinch.”
She winked and glided off the stage to take her seat, pressing her skirt needlessly as she descended the stairs.
What. In. The. World?!
From what I could understand, Elizabeth was not in charge of organizing the bake sale. She was the bake sale. The numbers overviewed earlier in the meeting would be impossible for one person to accomplish in a single weekend.
Maybe I misunderstood.
Hopefully so, because I was counting on the bake sale to give me a reason to do something. I mean, I make a great box of brownies. And cookies from a tube were my specialty.
“Thanks, Liz.” I snapped my attention back to the president, who had taken the stage again.
“We look forward to sampling everything you whip up this year. As long as you include a macaroon basket like last year! And maybe make an extra in case someone out-bids me this time.” The smile on her face was downright Aunt Bea, I felt like an outsider in a small town. The only woman around who wasn’t born to organize, clean, or cook.
I once again felt cheated out of an opportunity to do something special, just like when I found out that Danna had chosen Claire to be her homeroom mother before the school year had even begun. Not that I cared about that any longer, I loved Claire and everything about her.
And as for the homeroom mom for Vy’s class, I hadn’t even heard from whoever it was yet. Probably just as well, I was beginning to lose interest in the system anyway.
Mrs. Richardson interrupted my pouting with “. . . on to the Jog-a-Thon. Janice?”
Great. Janice and the Jog-a-Thon. Sounded like a CB handle for another goody-two-shoes perky blonde over-achiever . . .
“Hey guys! I’m Janice, the school’s gym teacher, and I’m pretty sure we’re gonna rock the Jog-a-Thon again this year! Like last year, we’re raising money for……”
The woman behind the pulpit didn’t look like any gym teacher I ever had. She was, well, just not very athletic looking at all. But whatever she was selling, I was definitely buying. She was bouncy, full of energy, and her face lit up with every word. She was short and stout, and absolutely adorable. She used wide spread hand motions for describing everything from the time of the event to location to the snacks that would be involved.
I found myself searching frantically for a pen when she began giving the date and times for later in the year, and eventually had several options for helping with concessions scrawled on the back of my hand. She reminded me of a cousin of John’s, able to get anyone excited about anything.
She eventually finished her spiel and practically bounced off the stage and back to her seat. Janice the Gym teacher, I smiled.
ELEVEN
About five months into the school year, I definitely felt acclimated. I knew just about everyone’s name, had a rudimentary knowledge of the resource room equipment, and felt almost comfortable coming to work everyday. Almost. Elizabeth was still mildly cordial, at best, and Danna still seemed to be avoiding me whenever possible.
I couldn’t believe it was already December, and that there were only five more months until summer. I remembered being a kid, and that the first half of the school year always seemed relentlessly long. Although I thoroughly enjoyed school as a child, it always seemed like Christmas break could never arrive fast enough.
Now here we were, a couple of weeks into December, and I was wondering where the time had gone. Christmas break was so near, and in only a handful of months, I would have a whole year of working under my belt. I was thinking about how proud I was of myself as I was getting ready for school this chilly Monday morning.
Had I actually managed to succeed at something other than being a devoted mommy? Sure seemed that way. And while my building assistant title wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as what I do at home, it felt great to help people all day.
It was probably the perfect job for me, come to think of it. I don’t think I would fare well at home by myself all day – with no Violet to keep me company. I would more than likely rot in front of the television if I did
n’t have someone to pick up after.
Plus, the constant soundtrack of my life – Vy’s incessant chattering – had been replaced by the noise of a few hundred students. That was perhaps my favorite part of coming to work each day. I needed that noise, that low rumble of nonsense and learning, for my brain to function properly.
Yes, this position was definitely a perfect fit for me. I was never idle for long, and I rarely did the same thing two days in a row, which helped with boredom. I had gotten to visit nearly all the classrooms and knew not only the teachers’ names, but many, many of the children’s names as well. They all called me “Miss Erin”, and I was pretty sure none of them actually knew what my job was at the school. They probably thought I was the school hermit, or the school pet.
I had been asked by a couple of Violet’s new friends why I never went home, or to work, like their mommies. A few students asked if I was a teacher, or a janitor – and if I was a janitor, then where were my dangly keys and cool flashlight?
I smiled and put the last of the hot rollers in my hair, remembering a little boy who had one day said, “What do you do, then?” It reminded me of the way people spoke to me when my only title was stay-at-home-mommy. I had simply smiled at the boy and said, “A little of everything.” That was obviously enough of an answer for him, because he shrugged and disappeared down the hall.
I unplugged the hot roller-heater and trotted carefully downstairs to the coffee pot, which had been calling my name since starting its cycle. That delayed brewing timer sure made it easier to get going in the morning – gotta love technology. When I got downstairs, the whole kitchen already smelled like roasting hazelnuts.
I leaned carefully over John’s shoulders and kissed his cheek.
“Morning.”
He eyed my head full of hot plastic things curiously.
“Morning,” he smiled.
“I was feeling fancy this morning. Thought I’d put a little extra effort in. You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it.” He smirked behind his glass of juice and newspaper. “It’s a good look for you.”
I mixed my coffee concoction; milk, coffee, and a packet of hot chocolate, while watching my husband at the table. I still wasn’t used to seeing him every morning before work. He was always pleasant, and we always had a good time together, but the few stolen minutes in the morning that we had to ourselves were more valuable than I had imagined they would be.
I walked over and ran the fingers of my free hand through the back of his hair, drinking in my cup of energy and watching him read. He leaned his head back and kissed me again, then I started to head upstairs to get Violet out of bed when something out the back window caught my eye.
“Erin. Honey?” John was saying.
I had frozen, with my hand on his head, apparently.
“What is it, sweetie?”
“Oh . . .” A lie was the best I could come up with. “Nothing.” I kissed him again, nearly dunking my curlers into my mug, and went upstairs.
I had been so busy at school lately that I hardly noticed the lack of one Azura Dane on campus. Now that I thought about it, though, I hadn’t seen her for weeks. So what was her Jeep doing in Elizabeth’s driveway? And why was it so very dirty?
Of course it was none of my business; I found that out early in the school year. I threw any interest out of my mind and climbed the last stair.
I set my mug down on Violet’s dresser and sat down on the edge of her bed. She had one arm flung up over her head like she was fainting and her mouth was nearly all the way open – loud snores were pouring out of her.
“Vy,” I whispered. “Time to wake up.”
She then snorted so loudly that she woke herself up, and turned to look at me.
“Morning, Mommy,” she answered hoarsely. I waited a few seconds for what I knew would come next. She smiled. Then she let her lids close and started snoring again almost immediately.
“Vy.” I waited. And waited. “Honey. It’s time to get up.”
I sat her up, pulled her out of the covers, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She slumped into my chest and snored heavily.
“Do you remember what today is?” I continued, not waiting for her to be conscious – I knew it would come soon enough. I couldn’t blame her for having a brain that didn’t function clearly in the morning. It was hereditary, but at least I had my coffee to get me jump started.
I reached over toward the dresser with the hand that wasn’t supporting Violet’s shoulders and took a deep drink, wondering how early was too early for a kid to discover the magic of the coffee bean.
I set the cup back down and tilted my daughter’s head back, brushing the matted hair out of her face.
“Violet,” I said louder. “Do you remember what today is?”
“Hmmm?” she finally mumbled.
She rubbed her eyes roughly and made a horribly sour face. I pulled her hands away from her face and she groaned in protest.
“You’re going to hurt your eyes doing that,” I scolded. “It’s Monday.”
She groaned again.
“And it’s . . .”
I could see the wheels turning, ever so slowly. It was coming . . .
Her eyes shot open.
“Polar Express Day!” she squealed.
“Ahhh, yes. It is.” It really didn’t take much to get Violet excited about the day sometimes. She was suddenly clear-headed and quite in the moment. She slid off the bed and made a bee-line for her dresser, talking hurriedly.
“Remember, Mom? I get to wear pajamas to school! But not these pajamas. The new ones Grandma got me. And slippers.” I’d never seen someone switch gears so quickly before, she was off and running. “And we get to watch a movie in class . . . and drink real hot chocolate!”
During this rant, she had slipped out of her night clothes and into a fresh pair of pajamas for school – complete with large, fuzzy slippers with jingle bells on them. Ms. Autry would like that for sure.
“Do I get a good morning hug?” I asked when she was finished dressing.
“Oh. Yeah.” Her mind was still reeling, I could tell. “Then I have to go eat breakfast, but I don’t have to change my clothes bec—Ugh! Mommy, aren’t you going to fix your hair for school?!”
She hugged me without waiting for an answer and pulled away to go downstairs. I grinned and held on to her, squeezing her tighter.
“I’m not done,” I smiled.
“Ugh,” she sighed – it really annoyed her when I took up her valuable time with things like hugging.
She waited patiently, though, with her arms around my waist, growing more fidgety by the second. She knew it was better to wait it out than to fight it. I lingered with my face buried in her hair until I had gotten my fill, and released her.
“Thank you!” she yelled, and ran out the door.
“Daddy!!!” I heard her bellowing as she clamored down the stairs. “It’s Polar Express Day! And I don’t have to wear real clothes to school!”
I loved that voice. She really did believe that the universe revolved around her. As she should. I gathered up the clothes she had strewn about and tossed them into her hamper. Then I made a lazy attempt at straightening the bed, simply throwing the covers so that they lay mostly even. When I finished arranging her pillows and animals so they would be ready for bed tonight, I kneeled onto the bed to look out the window.