“But mama, it’s régent.” Noah puts abruptly in the doorway. He looks indignantly, as if I am an degenerate mother who sends him to code red on the street. Noah does not like wet, cold or windy. I hear myself saying what my parents used to say to me (the cotton cotton gene is hereditary): “Come on darling, you’re not from sugar. School starts so, Húp.”
No follow -up investigation
“Aaah, what a bad luck,” he sighs. I chuckle. I hope Noah lives in a world for a long time in which a little rain is his biggest problem. Immediately I think of the rash of breast cancer control. Thank goodness I did not get a follow -up investigation in the hospital last week. That’s good news. But I am not comfortable with it. I only know that nothing is wrong after the result of the MRI scan.
In the schoolyard we see D., Noah’s best friend. Noah enthusiastically storms at him and wants to hug him, but D. takes a step aside. Noah says what, D. does not respond. That’s weird. Before the holiday it was always a big mik between the two. Then another boy comes in, he puts an arm around D.. D. says Bot to Noah: “I don’t want to play with you anymore.” The boys run away together. Noah remains stripped behind. Áú. My stomach turns around. I hug my son.
‘This place stands for disaster, here our carefree life changed forever’
Flashbacks
The bell rings. Noah enters the class. I peek through the window printed. D. and his new bestie sit next to each other, chatting. I see Noah doubting. Sit down? He does not decide to take the risk of a new rejection and is looking for a place on the other side of the classroom. Only. Flashbacks from the first time I left him at school. I feel what I felt then: I want to lift it, take home, protect. Noah had liked his way in the past year. But the holidays contains established friendships in loose.
Images from my own primary school time flash past me. I don’t have good memories of it. The atmosphere was determined by J., a small dictator who commanded, terrorized, fired. She made the class an unsafe place. And Duncans school time was downright traumatic. He had a problematic home situation and became the favorite target of bullies at school that smoked his vulnerability. Duncan and I project our experiences on Noah. That’s why we were nervous when Noah went to school for the first time. That’s why I am so stressed now.
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I am earlier in school in the afternoon. Again I peer through the window. I stare at Noahs in mind, try to read the situation. The problem has become grilled in my head. Maybe I should do something, intervene, talk to the teacher.
Then Noah hops out laughing. Hand in hand with a boy I don’t know yet. “This is R. Mama, my new friend!”
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