Page 34 of Whiskey & Honey
The first day of the school year finds me pulling on my oldest pair of cowboy boots. Tall, almost to my knee, they are bright and colorful with a floral design that the kids always love. One of my mentors from college told me that he discovered early on if he presented himself to the kids with something of interest they almost always eased into the new school year with less anxiety. Or, at the very least less tears at drop-off. I noticed then that he always wore a wild bow tie.
On my first day of teaching, I didn’t wear the boots. It was the most chaotic day of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for the level of hysterics presented in the form of eighteen humans under four feet tall. The next day, I dug my boots out of the back of my closet and said a little prayer they worked. As the children filed in the classroom that day, full of trepidation, one little girl saw my boots. She pointed and whispered to her mom who looked at me and smiled. I approached the little girl and dropped so that I was eye level.
“Simone, right?”
Hiding behind her mother’s leg, she nodded.
“I saw you looking at my boots, would you like to see them up close?” Another nod. With a nudge from her mom she approached me almost as if she wasn’t sure I was real. Mesmerized by the intricate design, she ran her tiny finger over the design. As she did, other children in the class noticed our interaction and joined. The day wasn’t perfect, but it was significantly better than the first day and only managed to get better as the week went on.
I went home that night and sent an e-mail to my mentor and thanked him for the idea. He sent back an e-mail that told me the idea was less for the children and more for the teacher. Sometimes we, too, need a way to take the focus off of what is happening and on to something else. So very true.
I arrive at the school about thirty minutes before the authorized drop-off time and spot Ben’s truck immediately. Contemplating parking near his truck, I instead choose a spot on the opposite side of the lot.
Once I’ve made it to my classroom and checked the class fish tank, we can’t start off the first day of school with a fish funeral after all, I take a few deep breaths when there’s a knock at my door.
“Miss Lawrence.”
“Mr. Sullivan.”
“You look pretty. I bet all of the boys in your class have a crush on you by the end of the day.”
Laughing, I walk over to my desk and take a drink of my coffee.
“What about you? The glasses are a nice touch, by the way. I’m sure not only will the second grade girls will have a crush on their new teacher, but the moms, too.”
Before he can reply, voices in the hallway signal that the conversation is over and the new year is starting.
“Well, I better get back to my class. Have a good first day, Piper.”
“You, too.”
Nodding and turning to walk out the door, I give myself just one second to check out the jeans Ben is wearing. That’s completely fine. We’re friends and even friends can appreciate what their friends are wearing.
Before I can fully appreciate the view, Ben turns and winks at me before turning down the hall. Damnit. Busted again.
As my new flock of students begins filtering in, I am greeted with familiarity by a few of the parents and even a few of the children who have siblings I’ve taught before. Then the sweetest little face catches my eye and my teacher heart swells. An adorable little boy tentatively walks in holding the hand of an older woman, grandmother perhaps. I watch as his big blue eyes dance around the room. His blond hair, refusing to be tamed, a little long in the front, gives him a bit of an Owen Wilson look. When I notice his eyes are lined red as if he’s been crying I decide to introduce myself before any sort of meltdown begins.
I introduce myself to the woman who tells me her name is Mrs. Honeycutt. Not recognizing the name from my student list, I drop down to a squat so I’m level with the young man who appears to be on the verge of a new set of tears.
“Hi there. What’s your name?”
I hear a sniffle of a response, “Jacob.”
Great, the kid who has my heart full of compassion and me wondering how long until I can have babies of my own is Jacob Thorne. Child of uber bitch, Felicity Remington hyphen Thorne.
“Well, Jacob, I’m Miss Lawrence. It’s very nice to meet you,” I say, offering him my hand. He shyly shakes it and looks up at Mrs. Honeycutt for reassurance.
“Jacob, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We’re going to have a wonderful time here in kindergarten. Would you like to come with me and find your seat? Your name is written on a tag so we’ll need to look at them all until we find yours. How about it?”
Once again looking at Mrs. Honeycutt, who adoringly looks at this sweet boy, he turns to take my extended hand. We locate his seat, which is next to Patty Wilmington. Patty is an outgoing and talkative child who I’ve known since she was born and have no doubt will be a perfect seat mate for a shy little boy like Jacob. Leaving Jacob to be Patty’s sounding board, I return to Mrs. Honeycutt.
“I think he’ll be just fine.”
She looks at me and smiles. “Yes, I suppose he will. I think this is more difficult for me than it is for him. I suppose you see this reaction from parents all the time.”
“I do, yes. But if you don’t mind me asking, what is your relationship to Jacob?”
“Oh, I’m his nanny. I came to work for the Thornes shortly after Jacob was born. He was a colicky baby and with a toddler underfoot his mother needed help. He’s quite special to me and I’m a little heartbroken to see him growing up. Silly, I know.”