The Fox at Dawn

A Hole for Breathing

A vaccine denier is to head up the Department of Health and Human Services. The Republicans won the house. Matt Gaetz is to be the Attorney General of the United States. It’s to be four years of revenge and retribution for almost being called to account. 

I take a turn around the school when I need to clear my head. I can walk through childhood and adolescence in just a few minutes. I start in the middle. If I turn left, I pass through the crucible years of 7^th and 8^th grade, where everything sizzles and pops. Through the doors by the division director’s office, I pass into the quieter but deeper waters of High School, then out the double doors between the Music Room and the Library to the Green Space.  It will either be still and empty of children or teeming with them in the field, the garden, the climbing trees, the gaga pit, the volleyball 4 square, the playground, the basketball court, the creek bed play space. I’ll go back into the school through the doors by the playhouse I had built for our outdoor Covid production of Wizard of Oz. The house actually spun during the tornado scene, but now has been rendered stationary, though certainly not ordinary.

Back in the school, I pass by the rack of rainboots, the kindergarten rooms, science room and up through the Lower School hall. I often stop to admire all the art made by little hands. So many projects on display, like the undersea world of coral reef, schools of fish, and jellyfish. I love walking by and getting a glimpse of little ones gathered  around their teacher on the rug for story time, or nestled in their own place in a nook or pillow fort or on a sofa reading intently. I wonder then what it would have felt like to be that cozy at school when I was young.  Cozy disappeared right after kindergarten for me, replaced by itchy school uniforms so badly designed that I couldn’t get the jumper on or off by myself, and by school desks arranged in neat rows where we had to sit up straight and pay attention in ways that the teacher recognized. The Lower School hallway here is tidy, but also cozy. Full of color and possibility. The joy of exploration is in evidence on every wall and in every doorway.  These are doorways that you want to pass through. 

On this day, I pass 5^th grader Silas with my usual ‘Hello friend’ greeting. He always looks haunted and fragile, with a pale face and dark circled eyes thanks to his diabetes, but his is an eager and active mind. 

“Ms. Crawford” he calls to me. “Would you like a cricket for a pet?”

I stop and turn, pausing to consider.

“I don’t think so. Are you offering me one?”

“Yes. I have one in my pocket. If I can’t find anyone who wants it, I’ll take it home to my tarantula.”

“Oh. Is it alive in there?”

“Oh yes.” He unzips his pocket and pulls out a cricket in a carefully cupped hand. It’s on its literal last legs, but definitely alive.

“Wow” I say. “You think it’s going to be alright in your pocket?”

He shrugs as he puts it carefully back, zipping it almost closed. “Sure. I’ve left it a hole for breathing. Okay well, see you next class.” And he goes on his way.

I’ve been thinking about that breathing hole ever since.

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