How To Lose Your Mind and Other Small Things…

Alarm didn’t go off? Stuck in traffic? Caught behind various slow moving public school buses? All true…but I’ve used those excuses a million times already. Absently, I waste time I don’t have debating the proper reasoning for my son’s late note of the day. Eventually, I know, I’ll be called out, or he’ll be getting detention of massive proportions. Maybe the car wouldn’t start? Seven minutes.
I cross two fingers on my left hand and write, “Please excuse my son Timothy for being late. He had an orthodontist appointment early this morning.” Hurriedly, I swirl my name and the date at the bottom, and shove it into his outstretched hand. He gives me an evil grin, “Yeah. They are going to buy THAT one. I had an orthodontist appointment last week”.
I stare at him, knowing it to be true, and sigh. Trying not to feel like a dismal failure, I grit my teeth and watch as he carefully packs up his ipod and cell phone at a snail’s pace. Glaring at him, I point at the car clock. 6 minutes. Get out!
“Go! If you’re late, you get detention. If I’M late, I get fired!”
I hit the gas as he slams the car door shut, and glance to the right. My tires squeal a bit as I turn out of the parking lot. Oh God. I sneak a peek back at the school, hoping no one notices.
I purposefully release my clenched, white knuckles from their iron grip on the faded black steering wheel. Turning up the radio volume high, I grab at my make-up bag on the seat next to me. Red light. Deep breath. Five minutes.
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I grope around in my sequined rock-star bag until my fingers find the cylinder-shaped mascara tube. With one hand, I swipe the wand over my lashes, one eye on the road, the other on the mirror.
Over the fuzz of the morning-show voices on the radio, I hear the sound of “Soul Sista” by Train playing somewhere on my body. I stop my make-upping in mid-stroke. My cell phone.
Left onto Ellicott, and I shove the make-up back into its bag, now fumbling with the mess in my coat pocket. The car slips a little in the snow, and I slide to a stop. Not today. Carefully I navigate the slickness of the road, squinting my eyes, and tipping my head, handling her as though I am at NASCAR. I brave another look at the clock. Four minutes. I can’t be late again.
I find my cell amongst the rubble, now vibrating to notify me that I have missed a call. I peek at the screen, one new voice mail. Sighing, I see that is was the phone call I’d been waiting for. No time to call back now. Like so many other things I long for, it will have to wait. Slowly picking up speed, I realize that the road is pretty well salted. Must have been just a rough spot back there. I might still make it on time. Two more traffic lights, both green, and I am feeling like Lady Luck may be smiling on me for the moment.
Chugging the final bit of vanilla-flavored coffee from my travel mug, I wipe a dribble from my chin, hoping the drop that lands on my brown shirt doesn’t show too badly. I carefully negotiate the curves around the creek road, letting myself, just for a minute, be wistful, longing for warmer days. The bubbling creek churns beneath a surface that is still frozen, and the bare branches of the trees seem so lonely without their leaves.
Reluctantly, I drag my focus back to this very day on my horizon, and realize I have two minutes left to get there. I corner the final turn onto the street where my school resides, speeding into the lot, then the last parking space in the row. Simultaneously, I grab my laptop, purse and the pile of papers I’d taken home to correct, while opening the car door and hitting the lock button on my key chain. One last glance at the clock tells me I have exactly sixty seconds to make it to the back door before our custodian turns the lock under direct order from my principal.
Summoning talent indigenous to my hometown, I plant my 3 inch heeled boots solidly into the slush and bolt, not missing a beat or step. Of course I don’t slip or fall. I am a Buffalo-Chick, born and bred. Juggling my bags, I arrive at the cafeteria door at the same moment Dave does, keys in hand. Arms straining under their load, I slide past him with a smile, slightly winded from the run.
I stride past the hundred students waiting in the main hallway for the signal to swarm to their classrooms. Pasting on a cheerful face, I call out “Good Morning!” to half a dozen of my own students, cover the ten feet to my room and slip inside. Arms shaking now, my toes pinched up into the tips of my boots, I drop my belongings onto my desk and sigh. I glance at the clock. Eight-oh-one. Another day has begun.