As I frantically raced back to the house, I thought about how very different Alexis' kindergarten experience has been from my own. My earliest memories start with that first year at North Hills Elementary. While most of the details are buried in a giant pile of forgotten experiences, there are a few that continue to linger. One of those lingering memories was jostled free as I considered what would happen if Alexis' bus reached the house before I did.
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It was a bright and unseasonably warm day, which isn't saying much considering it was Minot, North Dakota. The fact that it was Minot is the only explanation I have for why things happened the way they did. Trust runs thick through the veins of North Dakotans because rarely do you encounter anyone who isn't trustworthy. People assume everything is OK because it usually is.
I was a morning kindergarten sort of kid. When morning classes were dismissed, I lined up on the curb with the rest of the kids who lived a little too far from the school to be allowed to walk home. As I stood on that curb, I watched as kid after kid climbed into their family's car and left. I waited and waited, expecting my mom to pull up in our junky wood-paneled station wagon at any moment.
I waited.
And waited.
When I found myself standing alone, I thought it would be a good idea to pretend everything was OK. I decided I would make it look like I was supposed to walk to my Aunt's house that day. Instead of walking to her house a few blocks away, however, I circled the block. I circled the block and watched and waited, absolutely certain that my mom would pull up at any moment.
When I grew bored of circling the block, I decided to go to the playground behind the school. I took a leisurely spin on the merry-go-round, the silence of an empty playground ringing in my ears. When the silence was shattered by the release of the fourth graders charging the playground for recess, I ran away. Fourth graders are scary when you're in kindergarten.
I ran until I found myself standing at the curb at the front of the school. I stood there pondering what to do next, still watching for my mom to pull up, when suddenly a car came to an abrupt stop. I didn't know what to do, but I quickly ascertained that cars are supposed to stop when you're standing near the crosswalk lines. I pulled on a confident face and crossed the street, all the while acting as if that had been the plan all along.
Once the car was out of sight, I returned to the school. Surely my mom would be there at any moment!
I waited.
And I waited.
School let out for the day and still I waited.
When I began to fear that darkness would overtake the school grounds before my mom pulled up in the station wagon, I made the decision to walk home. It was a long six blocks, but as a kindergartener it felt like miles.
I still don't know my mom never picked me up from school that day. Or any of the other days that she didn't show up.
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I have always been home when Alexis' bus has pulled in front of her house, except for that once. There was that one time when her bus was a little early and I was a little late and there was a substitute driver who didn't think to check for a car in the driveway before letting Alexis off of the bus.
I pulled up just as the bus was pulling away from the curb. I caught up with Alexis as she was about to try to open the door.
Alexis' kindergarten experience has been very different from my own.
