I steer my CRV down the narrow lot of the park adjacent to her school, shooting for a spot on the cliff overlooking the road below. I used to back in, but I find I can dawdle enough afterwards that I don't have to worry about backing into a line of exiting cars.
A glance at the clock tells me it's 1:38pm. I wait. I have learned that walking in too early only means more endless minutes at the blue tables, trying to see my iPhone in the sunshine while W either crawls all over me in a personal space offending way OR walks on the tables OR jumps in filthy puddles OR tries to stick his hand down my shirt. For most of the year, I actually put him in a stroller because his inability to function in public turned the everyday drudgery of this task into a nightmare. Those days already seem long gone though. His behavior still tries my patience, but at least I don't have to wheel that ridiculous stroller through the rough terrain and throngs of people.
The parking spot is due to him, too. Put the car along the side of the aisle or back into one of the interior spots, and I will spend the next 30 minutes calming the fallout. We seem to both agree on the cliff these days, thank God.
Around 1:42 I gather my phone and keys, pull W out of the car. Depending on his mood, I may have to do a little convincing. Sometimes a lot of convincing. I have discovered that he likes to push the lock button on my driver's side door; it makes him feel useful. We have also made a lot of progress on him holding my hand as we cross the parking lot. Now he only refuses 1 in 5 times.
The trudge to the dreaded tables takes about 10 minutes. Down a cracked, dog shit bombed sidewalk with hedges on one side, dusty cars on the other. Under a filthy concrete gazebo. Through the sandy park, and a high, chain link fence. Past the grass-less kindergarten playground. Finally through the entrance breezeway to the blue tables. I took my sister on this walk once, and she remarked on the lack of trees. "This place is really depressing," she understated.
On my way to my spot, I pass the Hill Moms. I dubbed them that because after school they like to sit, pack-like, on a grassy knoll at the park. I have a spot over at the park, too. I sit 15 feet to their right, and we ignore each other while our kids play together. There was a time at the beginning of the year when I thought I might get to know these moms. One of them actually saved W's life by pulling him out of a pool at a birthday party. That was back when I understood less.
For most of the year I have endured the wait until V comes out, listening to pieces of the conversations around me, staring out into the bleak play yard or at my phone. Sweating in the white sun reflecting off the concrete or shivering in the wind whipping through the tables. Lately I often find my friend E waiting for me. Sometimes we have time to talk, and sometimes not. It am happy to see her. I wish it made a difference in how I feel here.
Through those first agonizing months of tears, I thought I had to be something other than myself. To put myself out there and really try to make friends. I hoped things would turn around. We would settle in; class parties and playdates and birthdays would follow, just like at her old school. Gradually I realized I am nothing other than myself. I am slow to warm. If I meet cold I am cold, too. So, many times I decided for sure we were going to transfer out. Back to the warm, bright place where V did Kindergarten.
I decided to take the hard way. Not hard in a universal way, just hard in that a square peg doesn't fit into a round hole. It always feels wrong here; these people are not my peeps. I hate the rigid rules and the way they overwork the kids. East Germany, I call it. I'm not even scratching the surface. I've given up trying to list off all the ways this place is a parched desert for me. It just is in every way.
But my compass is not me, it's her. V is content here, thriving. I can sit back and wait for things to change around me; when the time is right, the connections will probably creep out and grow. In the meantime I accept things the way they are. I sit in my spot at the blue tables, needing nothing except my two kids to walk to the car, hand in hand with me. So we can get the hell out of here and back to our real life.
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