We make small-talk as we stroll back to our cars, waving to our kids as they disappear through the double doors. She’s new here – just moved to Lincoln this summer. “That’s a big transition,” I say. “How’s it going for you?” She admits it’s tough – scary and lonely. She doesn’t say the words “scary” and “lonely” out loud, but I know.
Our sons are in the same grade. I recall Rowan mentioning “the new kid” a few nights ago at dinner. “Did you talk to him at recess?” I’d asked. “It’s hard to be the new kid, you know. You should play with him.”
“We should have coffee sometime,” I suggest, as we pause near the crosswalk.
She punches my number into her phone. “I’ll text you right when I get back to my car,” she says, smiling. “That way you’ll have my number in your phone, too.”
She’s parked right behind me in front of the school, and as I slide into my seat, I notice her car in my rear view mirror. She drives a fancy SUV, the really expensive kind.
I check my phone a half dozen times that day and the next.
“I bet she saw my junky, dilapidated mini-van and decided not to text,” I say to my husband, Brad. We sit on the back patio as the boys play an elaborate imaginary game – something about Mario and Bowser. The sun hangs low, and I shield my eyes with my hand, squinting at Brad.
…I’m really excited to be over at Prodigal Magazine today. Will you meet me there for the rest of this story {and I apologize for the fact that I am sending you willy-nilly all over the place lately – I promise I’ll be staying here for the next few weeks! Thank you for your patience!}.
