This school with the brown linoleum hallway floors and the globe lights and the pencil sharpeners and the long wands that were topped with window latches for opening and closing the windows, and the cloak rooms and the chalk boards. This was the place I returned to every September for nine years. From age 5 to 14. I loved it more than my own home.
Danny, was 11 on 911. He had been, for a few hours and without knowing it, a child in danger of losing his parents. And there he was, standing at the bar, having traveled though 20 years, sharing his story with me, a stranger. Something that happened 20 years ago had come full circle and placed me and Danny at an intersection of immense specificity. An 11 year old boy whose parents dodged a bullet and an older woman who had never given his generation a thought.
August is right around the bend, and it is one of my favorite times of year. There is something about the light that has softened. It has changed from the baking hot heat light of July into a mellowed tone. August light has been around the block. It knows a thing or two.
The deed is done. My day job has ended – although they still have me on the hook as a consultant for six months. I have one toe tethered and one foot in the free zone.
Going forward I will be aware of this new relationship with time, give my cats their treats when they want it, and indulge in watching them take naps when satiated. It feels like a good start.
