11 Days

At lunch today, E stood by my desk and swayed back and forth in a little dance.

ME: What are you doing?

E (in a whisper): I don't know it's just sometimes I want to shout out loud, "I love you!"

ME: That you love me (I'm whispering back)?

E: Not just you, everyone.

ME: So, why don't you do it?

E: Oh no, I'm just too shy.

She has become one of my favorite students. At the beginning of the year she was quiet and thoughtful and took ages to finish an in-class assignment, contemplating the ceiling or her pencil until just the right thoughts came then slowly, meticulously writing them down, erasing a misspelled word and writing again. Now, 7 months later, she is silly and creative and beloved by all of her class members.

Her mother wrote to me and asked what we'd done to her shy child. This child, she said, is not the same one who she sent to school in September.

She's not and while I know the mother is pleased and teasing us, I hope she realizes what amazing kid she has.

I'm sure she knows. Her older daughter was much the same -- quirky and fun and brilliant in many ways. I just want E to not be in the shadow of her sister. I want everyone to see E for her beauty and her talent and her odd sense of humor.

Yesterday.

E: (We're at the park and she sits down beside me on the park bench from where I watch the kids play tag.) 12 days, you know?

ME: Really? 12 days.

E: Yep.

ME: Will that be your birthday?

E: Nope.

ME: Will that be the day you climb Mt. Everest?

E: Nope.

ME: Will that be the day you turn into an elephant?

E: Nope. I would not turn into an elephant, I would turn into a caterpillar.

ME: Why a caterpillar?

E: You're off the subject. 12 days.

We sit in the sun for awhile. I'm lightly tapping my foot and she's swinging her legs because they just barely touch the ground.

E: Do you need me to restate?

ME: No, I've got it. 12 days. I'm just trying to figure out the significance of 12 days.

I count in my head. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...

ME: It's a Saturday.

E's eyebrows rise.

E: Yep.

ME: (I'm struck by lightning) Our puppy arrives in 12 days!

E: (beaming) Yep.

And then today. E walks up to me this morning and stretches herself to whisper in my ear.

E: 11 days.

ME: Yep.

And then she takes her seat, crossing her swaying legs, folding her hands on the table in front of her. I laugh. She's dancing in her seat. I offer my most loving smile.

She winks.