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Do you remember the first time we met?
That’s one of the few memories I have from my childhood: Our first day of preschool.
Ready to walk through memory lane with me, baby?
It was a cloudy day in September. Grandma stayed with Fletcher and Teddy while my parents dropped us off at school. The first stop was at the elementary school, where we left Kingston, Myles, Burke, and Zach.
Burke was nervous since he was now attending the big kids’ school full-time. Unlike his twin, Zach was thrilled about their new adventure.
I had no idea how to be. It was my first day of school, and I didn’t take well to strangers.
“Are you ready?” Mom asked as Dad parked the car.
I nodded, but my stomach was in knots.
That wasn’t the first time I visited the building or that she asked if I was ready.
Mom had taken me to school a week before to play. That’s what she called it. She took me there to get tested and ensure I was a good fit for the program.
Mom thought I was too young, sensitive, and immature to attend school.
The teacher told her I was a perfect fit for her class. It was small, with only four kids plus me. The method she used was different from the regular curriculum. Dad claimed she babied me too much, but he made it clear that if I wasn’t ready, I could skip it this year. They could even hire tutors and homeschool me.
Back then, I didn’t like big crowds or strangers.
Mom promised I’d make new friends. But back then, I thought I didn’t need them. I had four older brothers to play with—they understood me better.
“It’s okay if you want to skip this year. You’re smart enough to catch up later,” Dad repeated as we walked toward the brick building.
Mom glared at him. “He needs to go to school, Donovan. He is ready. The teacher assured me they have plenty of support for kids like him.”
At that time, I didn’t know what she meant by that. Kids like me.
When we were in front of the glass doors, Dad squeezed my hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
I believed him.
The building reminded me of our brownstone in Boston. We didn’t live there but often visited, mostly when Dad had to check on the northeast offices. I enjoyed going from one branch to the next one.
Traveling was one of my favorite things in the world. We had a private plane. Dad promised to buy me one as long as I finished high school. I couldn’t wait to start flying lessons when I turned ten. I looked forward to getting my license to fly when I turned sixteen. Mom didn’t like when I planned. She called my dreams ridiculous. Dad called them goals.
Sorry, that’s not important, but I still get upset at the way Mom disregards what I want to do with my life. I bet she’s pretty upset at me for dying during a mission. At least, I hope that’s how I died. Wouldn’t it be stupid if I died crossing the road?
Now, let’s go back to my favorite part of this story. Are you ready, Pipe?
When I entered the classroom, I only saw four children on the center rug. Three boys and one girl. The carpet was colorful, and there were toys, musical instruments, and even a pad with crayons.
When the little girl lifted her gaze, her violet eyes stared at me.
They were enchanting.
As magical as the fairy tales Mom and Dad read to us.
I stopped breathing, waiting to hear her voice, hoping she was a siren or a fairy.
The little girl smiled at me, illuminating the entire room. It was welcoming and so warm. “He’s here.” She clapped.
Then she dared to say, “We’ve been waiting for ages. I’m glad you’re finally part of us.”
