in a while borderline psychotic. But they had beauty in them.
Josie smiled at me over the children’s heads—which were, I had noticed on the bus, frankly dirty, along with the rest of them. It was as if their parents had collectively given up on them this week, in preparation for this field trip. They were on the brink of adolescence, these rangy fifth graders, and before the hormone artillery advanced, their bodies were sending out early warning shots. They were greasy haired, gamy little things. As much as I loved them, I also couldn’t ignore their collective resemblance to chimps.
I thought about Hannah and felt a sharp pang of longing, almost physical, even though I’d only been away from her for a few hours. She would turn into this species of primate soon enough, but she was six then, still a sweet monkey, just a tall baby who liked to follow me around the house, kissing and petting me. Her body was a satellite to mine. Sometimes at night I would lie in bed and revel in the space between Chris and me, the way my skin touched only my own T-shirt and the sheets. It would be the blink of an eye before Hannah turned into the girl she is now, the one who disdains my affection and cringes from my touch. If I’d known then, I would have…well, what would I have done? Recorded a caress? Taken notes on a hug? You can’t preserve anything; every happy moment is already on its way to becoming nostalgia. That’s the problem.
Margo quickly organized the children into a red and a green team for the treasure hunt. We decided to leave their bags on the bus, give them a chance to run around, and then come back later and get them settled in the cabins.
Audrey Franklin and Zoe Meckleheim-Wald rushed over to me as Kelly and Andrea handed out color-coded name tags. Audrey was guiding Zoe, her hands on her friend’s bony shoulders, and Zoe, I noticed with alarm, was sobbing.
Mrs. Moore, I! She forgot! Mrs. Moore! Glasses my glasses! Zoe at home forgot!
They spoke over each other in a rush to impart this exciting news. Zoe sobbed and wiped her eyes. Audrey smiled at me, expectantly. Audrey was a lightning rod, a heat-seeking drama missile. She was one of those girls who tried to help everybody, especially when they didn’t need it.
“What will I do?”
Zoe. It was one of the names on the list I wasn’t letting myself make. Also Iris. Phoebe. Louisa. It was so hard to keep this baby an abstraction when every thump of my heart brought her closer.
I bent down close to Zoe, my hands on my knees. “How many fingers am I holding up?” I wasn’t holding up any. She tilted her head at me, tears still wet on her flushed cheeks. “How many?” I repeated.
“None!” she said, and started to laugh.
“How well can you see without your glasses?” I asked.
“Mrs. Moore,” Audrey said. “She
needs
them!”
“I mostly wear them for watching TV at home.” Zoe shrugged.
“I think you’ll be okay,” I said. “There’s no TV here. And it’s only two days. Be careful, and don’t mistake any of the coyotes for your friends.”
“Coyotes?” Audrey clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Audrey, there are no coyotes. Can you be an extra-good friend to Zoe this weekend? Help her if she needs it?”
She nodded and took Zoe’s hand, guided her friend away as if she were legally blind. “There’s a rock on the path,” she said. “And another one! Be careful!”
Josie was standing next to me now, had witnessed my expert land-mine defusing. “Mrs. Moore, I forgot my Xanax,” she whispered. “I
neeeed
it.”
“Mrs. Abrams, I forgot my vodka.”
Josie sighed. “Honestly, I’m exhausted already.” She fiddled with her ponytail and looked around. “You know what it’s going to be like. The psychological warfare of the girls. The grievous bodily injuries the boys will inflict on one another.”
The sun was high in the sky. The spring had been unseasonably warm. Josie and I had assured each other that we were
Josie smiled at me over the children’s heads—which were, I had noticed on the bus, frankly dirty, along with the rest of them. It was as if their parents had collectively given up on them this week, in preparation for this field trip. They were on the brink of adolescence, these rangy fifth graders, and before the hormone artillery advanced, their bodies were sending out early warning shots. They were greasy haired, gamy little things. As much as I loved them, I also couldn’t ignore their collective resemblance to chimps.
I thought about Hannah and felt a sharp pang of longing, almost physical, even though I’d only been away from her for a few hours. She would turn into this species of primate soon enough, but she was six then, still a sweet monkey, just a tall baby who liked to follow me around the house, kissing and petting me. Her body was a satellite to mine. Sometimes at night I would lie in bed and revel in the space between Chris and me, the way my skin touched only my own T-shirt and the sheets. It would be the blink of an eye before Hannah turned into the girl she is now, the one who disdains my affection and cringes from my touch. If I’d known then, I would have…well, what would I have done? Recorded a caress? Taken notes on a hug? You can’t preserve anything; every happy moment is already on its way to becoming nostalgia. That’s the problem.
Margo quickly organized the children into a red and a green team for the treasure hunt. We decided to leave their bags on the bus, give them a chance to run around, and then come back later and get them settled in the cabins.
Audrey Franklin and Zoe Meckleheim-Wald rushed over to me as Kelly and Andrea handed out color-coded name tags. Audrey was guiding Zoe, her hands on her friend’s bony shoulders, and Zoe, I noticed with alarm, was sobbing.
Mrs. Moore, I! She forgot! Mrs. Moore! Glasses my glasses! Zoe at home forgot!
They spoke over each other in a rush to impart this exciting news. Zoe sobbed and wiped her eyes. Audrey smiled at me, expectantly. Audrey was a lightning rod, a heat-seeking drama missile. She was one of those girls who tried to help everybody, especially when they didn’t need it.
“What will I do?”
Zoe. It was one of the names on the list I wasn’t letting myself make. Also Iris. Phoebe. Louisa. It was so hard to keep this baby an abstraction when every thump of my heart brought her closer.
I bent down close to Zoe, my hands on my knees. “How many fingers am I holding up?” I wasn’t holding up any. She tilted her head at me, tears still wet on her flushed cheeks. “How many?” I repeated.
“None!” she said, and started to laugh.
“How well can you see without your glasses?” I asked.
“Mrs. Moore,” Audrey said. “She
needs
them!”
“I mostly wear them for watching TV at home.” Zoe shrugged.
“I think you’ll be okay,” I said. “There’s no TV here. And it’s only two days. Be careful, and don’t mistake any of the coyotes for your friends.”
“Coyotes?” Audrey clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Audrey, there are no coyotes. Can you be an extra-good friend to Zoe this weekend? Help her if she needs it?”
She nodded and took Zoe’s hand, guided her friend away as if she were legally blind. “There’s a rock on the path,” she said. “And another one! Be careful!”
Josie was standing next to me now, had witnessed my expert land-mine defusing. “Mrs. Moore, I forgot my Xanax,” she whispered. “I
neeeed
it.”
“Mrs. Abrams, I forgot my vodka.”
Josie sighed. “Honestly, I’m exhausted already.” She fiddled with her ponytail and looked around. “You know what it’s going to be like. The psychological warfare of the girls. The grievous bodily injuries the boys will inflict on one another.”
The sun was high in the sky. The spring had been unseasonably warm. Josie and I had assured each other that we were
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