How it came to this

Kindergarten Blues

Chapter 3 1998 Age 5

"Amara." Mom's gentle voice coos.

I realize that I am on the floor of the nap area at school. Other children are still sleeping under their blankets brought from home. A pillow beneath their beautifully naïve heads.

"Hmmm?" I say while rubbing my eyes.

"Someone is getting to go home early today." She says grinning. Her brown hair is in a tight bun. Ten years ago, and she appears the same age as she does now. Was that a compliment? I do not know. Here she is beautiful, she is always beautiful. A little on the plus size though in the memory. Mother's weight has always fluctuated. Something I have noticed in little Lana. "Get up Amy."

Amy. Oh, how I hate that shortened nickname. Though now I would almost welcome it. Her tongue is bitter as she pronounces my name fully these days.

"Okay mommy." I say and druggily step up. I am still below her waist here it seems. I see Mrs. Gregory behind her diligently scanning the room for a child that is no longer at rest.

I hear a movement behind me and turn until I find the source. A boy, why do I not remember his name? He is stirring.

"Mrs. G." He cries. "I wet my pants again." With that he begins wailing waking more students.

Mrs. Gregory hurries towards the boy.

"That is our cue to leave honey." Mom says a little concern in her voice for the teacher perhaps.

I reach my hand out to her and she takes it. Her hands are a little sweaty though I do not say anything.

"Where are we going mommy?" I ask still sleepy from the nap.

"Sissy is a little sick today, she's asking for you."

"Oh. How sick?" I can hear the worry in my voice.

Is this when Allie was sick with the flu? I think through my memories sure that I am right, and this is the day where Allie was in her delirium.

"She'll be okay honey, just a little sick."

We enter the hallways, shiny and spattered with different colors of paint. Fun for the kids. We pass the bench that I had pressed my handprint into forever. I wonder if this bench is still there or if they have covered up my print.

Mom's heels echo while my shoes squeak. She leads me to the main office where the secretary, an older woman with a plastered frown, hands her a slip and directs her to sign the sheet on her desk.

"Time to go." Mom chimes.

"How sick is Allie?" I ask. Her hand slacks as I ask this though her grin never leaves her lips. I have done a no-no, ask a second time.

"Not very." She murmurs

We exit the building, and I can recall the freedom I felt in that brief moment. Then the set of nerves knowing my beloved sister was ill.

After mom buckles me in and gets in her seat, I feel the words bubbling up. "How sick mommy?"

"It's nothing serious sweetie." Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly now. I can see the veins in her knuckles. "It's just.....the flu."

As we approach our pretty little house where nothing bad could ever happen to us, I unbuckle my booster seat and race to the door.

"Allie!" I yell, her window is open a crack. "Allie! We're home!"