Trekhprudny Lane

She waves pa-ka so fast, almost forgets, in fact, before turning to dismiss me and march confidently into the classroom, eager to see what the squeals are about behind the door. I am still holding her balled-up coat, snow pants, hat and mittens, wishing I might spot a button undone or loose barrette or some other excuse to call her back to me for a moment without losing face. And I am watching her very, very carefully for any suppressed sign of fear, or hint that this is foolhardy toddler bravery – will she, in a few minutes, behind that door, be hit by a doubt, and turn back and see that she is alone? Some of the most overpowering emotions I experienced as a young child happened at drop-off, well into my teens in fact: terror, futile clinging, then abandonment, and by the nine o'clock bell I would have entered a kind of lock-down, blocking out other kids (too unpredictable), hoping for a sign of pity or understanding from the teacher, gritting my teeth or repeating little talisman rhymes to contain the waves of panic, and beginning the long wait for the day to be over. I remember every couch in every nurse's room in every school I attended, and the cumulative hours I spent there willing the thermometer in my mouth to heat up. Once I was old enough for lessons and not merely supervised play, managing the all-day flow of information proved a welcome distraction... facts, data, formulas, mastering the proper way things should be done, from cursive Q to the inverted pyramid. It was all just a way to pass the time, however. The ubiquitous assumption that kids should be rebels, chafing against adult direction, I found confusing; from first through twelfth grade I embraced rules as a form of protection. School rules were rational and impersonal, too, very different from authority at home. I took comfort in the strictest teachers and felt safer when my peers were kept under control. For days before a so-called pep rally I felt deep dread; at such an anarchic event, I felt, anything could happen. (Mark, one of the worst nightmares I ever had was of your execution at a Crestview pep rally – you were curled like a shrimp in the bottom of a tin pail, which was hanging from a crane inside the gymnasium.) Sick, funny but sick, I know. I cannot quite believe that EB is not experiencing premonitions of the same fear – it is so powerful – and so I keep searching for it, quizzing for it. And then I fear she'll sense my anxiety and be infected by it... but so far, she seems -- in spite of me! -- perfectly alright.