Call Me Charlie

Issue 320

You guys,

Fiona was late for school. I needed 8-year-old Fiona to arrive because I needed her to walk Layla to her classroom, otherwise Layla would cling to me and refuse to go in.

The same thing happened in Greece, and Sam and I didn’t know what to do to make school dropoff easier, until one morning on the playground Rory approached. She was in the 10-12-year-old class and both our kids adored her. She bent down and looked Layla in the eyes. “Layla, can I walk you in?” Layla nodded, let go of my hand and grabbed Rory’s and didn’t look back. From then on, Rory, or any of the many older girls who knew Layla, seamlessly walked her into school without tears or hesitation.

In La Barra I started scouting the older girls. Who could walk my daughter into class? Then I saw it. Over the weekend, Layla said hi to Fiona at the family hub, and Fiona, a friendly, outgoing girl, approached and said hi and picked her right up like a baby doll. She was the one.

Usually, or at least for the past three days, Fiona was early to school. Observing her from afar Sam concluded that Fiona liked to be early, to be on time, and if she was going to walk Layla to her classroom then we also needed to be on time. We could not hold Fiona up.

Sam walked George in, and more and more families walked past me and Layla. Some started to ask if Layla was going to school. I told them we were waiting for Fiona. We waited and waited. Then Eva walked up. Another young girl in the 10-12 class. I said good morning and gave her a quick hug. She was not close with Layla, but after she walked past, onto the playground, and there was still no sign of Fiona, I bent down and asked Layla if she would want Eva to walk her in, since Fiona wasn’t here. She gave me a single nod.

“Okay let’s go,” I said, grabbing her hand and walking through the gate and onto the playground. No sign of Eva. We missed our chance. Dammit. It was nearly 9:00 and Layla would have to go in soon. I spotted another young girl, who had never interacted with Layla but seemed nice. “What about Rayna?” I asked Layla. “Would you be okay with her walking you in?” She hesitated, then nodded. Rayna was talking with her mom. I approached and interrupted without saying excuse me, getting down on my knee to bypass her mother and speak directly to Rayna.

“Hey Rayna, can I ask you a favor?” This is the second time I’ve asked a kid I barely know for a favor—the first being Fiona—and both times the look I got back was full of skepticism and distrust. I needed to lead with a better question. I was practically a stranger to this girl. We did play a card game together once, at the hub, a big group of us, and she sat across from me, and I offered her a piece of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and she said no. “Do you think you could walk Layla into her class?”

“Okay,” she said, looking towards the classroom door only a few feet away, but then I told her that in the mornings they have to walk around to the back of the school. “Oh,” she said, clearly regretting her decision, “I don’t know where to go…”

Her mom, a very nice woman, interjected. “Rayna, I bet Layla could show you where her classroom is.” Rayna didn’t immediately respond so her mother continued, “C’mon, let’s go. Layla, can you show us where your classroom is? We can all go together.”

Rayna’s mother, although well-intentioned, was ruining this. Layla did not want to walk in with a parent. She wanted to walk in with a kid—a kid who wanted to walk in with her. The opportunity was dead. It was over. Couldn’t she see that? I thanked them, anyway, mad at the pair of them, and pulled out my phone. Good morning! I texted Fiona’s mother at 8:59am. Just wanted to see if Fiona was coming to school today.

No response. No three dots to let me know she was typing. She knew how important this was, how much of a struggle it’s been dropping off Layla. A little heads up would have been nice. How hard is it to send a text, let me know they’re late today? I should have stopped Eva when I had the chance. Fiona likes to be early. We can’t be late, Sam said. Early my ass. He cares so much about putting people out. What about people putting us out?

It’s after 9:00 and I have to walk Layla in. I get down at eye level. I apologize to her. I’m mad at her, too. She loves school, always so smiley when I pick her up. She never even sees me when I arrive to pick them up after school because she’s too busy waiting in line with her friends to climb the outdoor rock wall. Why can’t she just go in? I tell her we have to go. I ask her if we can have a good dropoff. She nods. The kids have already sat down for Circle Time. We’re late, interrupting the morning routine. Layla does not go easily. Her teacher gets up, full of cheer as she greets Layla, coaxing her with exciting plans for the day that I am not listening to. Layla is off my leg and as soon as our bodies are separated, I bolt. She reaches for me but I leave and it’s quiet. No crying. She will be okay. She’s sad but she’ll be okay.

I speed walk to the school entrance and there is Fiona’s mother. She is blase in her greeting. Apologetic sort of but it feels more like a, “Sorry not sorry.” They had to move out of their apartment yesterday because of a mold problem, so I guess my daughter’s well-being was not important to her. I laugh and say it’s okay, it’s no problem. I’m always laughing. I laugh when I feel uncomfortable, I laugh when I didn’t hear what you said, I laugh when you said something funny, I laugh when you didn’t say something funny but you think you did, I laugh when I’m confused, I laugh when I like you, I laugh when I don’t like you. Fiona’s mother is on a bicycle, also headed to our Spanish lesson, and she rides off, leaving me in her dust. I am walking.

This was supposed to be a calm, peaceful walk. It was homework from my breathing coach, to get my body moving outside in the mornings. I am striding my legs longer, pumping my arms, feeling anything but peaceful and calm. I hate being late. I hate rushing. It’s beautiful, sunny, and getting warmer by the minute. I take off my light jacket and tie it around my waist. Should I skip the cafe and go straight to my Spanish lesson? No. I need a snack. And I need coffee. Fine, I don’t need coffee. I want coffee. I don’t care if coffee is the reason I can’t catch my breath. I want it. I have an hour and 45-minute Spanish lesson. I am a student again and I deserve coffee.

I can’t catch my breath. I can’t walk into this class late without telling everyone what I’ve been through, and everyone should know about the morning I’ve had. It’s the only way to dissipate the anxiety—is to tell everyone. Both mothers of the young girls I tried to recruit to walk Layla into school will be in my class. How do I tell the story without blaming them? Probably by laughing a lot. Is that passive aggressive? Or just aggressive? Or something else?

I have an idea. I’ll buy snacks for everyone. Borneo Coffee is supposed to have great pastries. I’ll get a whole spread. You can be late if you bring treats. I’m feeling better now. Breathing easier. How do you say, “I am late,” in Spanish? Yo soy… no that’s wrong. It’s not permanent. Yo estoy…. late. I have no idea how to say late so I’ll just say Yo estoy late. And then my teacher will correct me but he’ll be so thrilled that I’m trying to speak to him in Spanish, and he’ll see that I have lemon cake and date balls and chocolate chip cookies and medialunas, for everyone, and everyone will love me.

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Until next week,

Charlie