Meteorologist Mommy

Amy checked her lipstick for the ninth time, took another drink of water for her dry mouth, clutched her notebook to her chest with shaking hands, and shut her eyes, breathing in and exhaling. On her dash sat two piles of glossy, tri-fold brochures covered with pictures of happy children. The pile on the right was quite tall and looked worse for the wear. Most of them were wrinkly from water exposure. One had a burn mark, and the one on the very top had a white layer of frost, slowly melting in the afternoon heat and dripping onto the dash. There was one brochure remaining on the left-hand pile. Only one.

 “Okay, honey,” she said brightly, “Are you ready?”

The little boy in the car seat behind her looked up, his blue eyes alight with excitement. “Pe-school? Now?! This my pe-school?”

As she looked at him, a genuine smile momentarily erased the worry lines on her face. “This is just a visit, Justin. We’re seeing if, um, if it’s a good fit. And if they think it is, maybe you’ll keep coming here. So we have to be on our extra good behavior, okay?! Let’s stay happy!”

“I happy!”

 “Good!”

She unbuckled him and took his small hand as they turned towards the single-story brick building. She hesitated again, tugged gently on his hand and bent down to eye level with him when he turned around.

“We’re going to stay happy, okay? Even if we get nervous, okay? Stay. Happy.”

His brow creased with confusion. “I happy.”

Hurriedly she pasted on another bright smile. “That’s my boy!” The worry line on his forehead relaxed and they went towards the building. Trees laced shadows over the sidewalk and they could see a hint of a playground behind the bushes. The sign on the front lawn read “Berry Glades Academy.”

“Fish!” Squeaked Justin excitedly, as they passed a small koi pond by the front entrance. Amy took it all in with rising hope. This would be a perfect place for Justin to learn.

Inside, a motherly looking woman sat at the front desk. She smiled. “Oh, welcome!” She checked her computer. “Ms. Shoalter? And of course this little guy here is Justin.” She smiled down at him and he gave her his full watt blinding smile back.

“Oh my, well aren’t you a little sweetie.”

Amy tousled her son’s dark hair fondly. He was the most adorable three-year-old on the planet, in her totally unbiased opinion, with his blue eyes and his dark hair and the little smattering of freckles on his cute button nose—if only they could see that he was a good kid, too. They had to see it. This place was perfect.

“I had an appointment with Ms. Golding?” She said.

“She’ll be out in a moment,” the receptionist said. “Here she is now!”

Ms. Golding was a tall, greying woman in her early fifties wearing a “Berry Glades” polo and slacks. She was not unattractive but the primary impression her face gave was that of authority. Nice enough, but exactly the kind of woman you’d feel was quite equipped to competently handle obstreperous parents and children alike. Amy internally felt herself shrink to third grade with a memory of a similar teacher looking down at her with disapproval. Caught in the act!

Mrs. Golding however, unlike the remembered Mrs. Calthorpe, held out her hand with a welcoming smile. “Mrs. Shoalter, good to meet you!”

Amy pulled herself together and grew up again. She was not the third grader caught whispering in class. She was a mother who was going to get son into a good school. It was a normal, good thing to do. She wasn't concealing anything, or feeling guilty about anything at all...

Similar introductions were carried on with Justin, who swelled Amy’s heart with pride when he said hi politely and smiled up at the preschool director. 

Mrs. Golding straightened. “Well let’s get started with the tour and we’ll talk on the way. Down this hallway we have our playroom for the 3’s class.”

They went down a hallway and as they passed each doorway Amy peeked into clean, airy rooms with fun looking toys while Mrs. Golding talked about the school’s schedule and educational goals. As they neared the final room, she said, “Now I think you said he’d been attending another preschool, but it wasn’t a good fit? Can you give me some idea of what they were missing that you’re looking for in Berry Glades?”

A hot prickle of unease swept up Amy’s neck and she was miserably aware that her face had gone red. This place was amazing. She could not ruin this for Justin by acting like there was something wrong with her child! She dug around in her purse, pretending to look for something, trying to hide her flaming cheeks.

 “Oh, it just wasn’t…it wasn’t a good fit.” Not good enough, Amy! She thought. If she didn’t come up with something concrete, this woman would imagine the worst things. “I-I felt like they weren’t equipped to handle his needs.”

Mrs. Golding opened the door to the playroom and Justin scampered in with a shout of delight. Amy was pleased. Here was a comfortable, fun room with a huge picture window looking out onto a row of bird feeders. There were climbing toys and a huge shelf of books. It smelled fresh and clean, not like graham crackers and dirty diapers, which was the case for a few of the preschools she’d visited. A little boy was playing in the corner, while two teachers sat on chairs and watched him.

“I’m sorry, but we still have one student left.” Mrs. Golding confided. “We’re having trouble with this particular parent. She refuses to pick him up on time. This is his last day, actually. It shouldn’t be a problem that he’s in here, he’s a sweet little boy. Now what were you saying about Justin? Does he have special needs we should be aware of?” She leveled that look of calm authority at Amy. “We want to meet our student’s needs, Mrs. Shoalter, but we do have to know what they are beforehand.”

“No, he doesn’t have special needs… I mean…well, no, not educationally. He’s so smart.” Amy found herself babbling. “I just really want him to have a chance to learn and grow—”

Mrs. Golding’s eyebrows expressed polite skepticism that she was getting the whole truth—but before the conversation could deteriorate further, there was a slam as the door to the classroom was flung open.

Everyone jumped and stared. A woman, early thirties, in a nice pantsuit, a gorgeous mane of auburn hair cascading in perfect billows down her shoulders, strode into the room. “Mrs. Golding! What the **** do you mean, this is Damian’s last day?! You have no **** business throwing him out! You’ll be talking to my lawyers—”

Mrs. Golding drew herself up to her full height and disapproval. “Ms. Monds, this is absolutely inappropriate—”

But Ms. Monds caught sight of Justin and started shouting over Mrs. Golding, “Are you interviewing!?!? You think you’re going to boot my son so this little snot can—WHAT IS HE DOING? WHAT IS THAT FREAK DOING TO MY CHILD?!”

The little boys had been playing with trucks nearby. Upon her entrance, Ms. Mond’s child had carried on with what he was doing, but Justin was staring up at her, horror and fear in his wide blue eyes.

And over his head was a small, grey rain cloud, gently pattering a shower down on him and the little boy beside him.

“Justin!” Amy cried, already knowing from the wobble in her own voice that she would only upset him more, but unable to stop herself. “No! It’s okay! Be happy, remember? Calm down! Everything is okay! Let’s stop raining now before we get the carpet wet!”

Mrs. Monds turned on her with a snarl and a clatter of the bangles on her arms. “GET YOUR FREAK AWAY FROM MY KID!”

“He just has his own personal weather system!” Amy stammered, mostly towards Mrs. Golding, backing away and putting herself between Ms. Monds and Justin. “He’s not a freak! He’s a sweet little boy! He’s smart!”

But it was too late.

Behind her there was a rumble of thunder, a clap and a BOOM that knocked a toy off the shelf with a rattle. She felt her pants leg get soaked as Justin, swathed in dark clouds, wrapped his little arms around her leg and glared up at Ms. Monds. “My Mommy.”

Ms. Monds, for the first time, understood who Amy was protecting by putting herself between them. Any three-year-old has a strong sense of justice, of what’s mine, not yours. And any three-year-old, upon seeing something that’s mine, not yours threatened will react with very little reasoning and self-control. That’s the average three-year-old. But how many three-year-olds come equipped with lightning bolts?

Ms. Monds left, screaming all the way down the hall. The carpet smoked. There was a moment of complete silence, except for the pattering of rain.

“Wow!” Said Ms. Monds’ child. And then the sprinkler system turned on.

--

Amy buckled Justin into the car seat with hands that shook so hard she could barely get the buckles to click. Rain drizzled down on her head and she was aware of his worried eyes fixed on her, but she couldn’t meet them. He ventured, “Go to pe’school tomorrow?”

“No,” she sobbed, still not looking at him, shut the door and climbed in the front seat. It was now raining harder inside the car but that was fine with her. If she had a cloud she’d rain, too—she’d rain a monsoon. He hadn’t hurt the woman. What properly feeling child who loved its parents wouldn’t respond by being upset when they saw a threat? It wasn’t his fault he was born like this.

The worst part was—she knew he was smart. She just wanted him to have a chance to grow and to learn and develop. Was that so awful? But Ms. Golding and her motherly secretary lady had looked like Amy’d been trying to foist a monster on them.

His small voice piped from the back seat. “But…I want to go to pe’school. …I sorry, Mommy. I be happy now.”

Amy cried harder.  

They drove home, and pulled up in the driveway. Amy got Justin out, dully went around and opened up all the doors so the rain could run out and the sun could dry the custom rubber flooring in the car.

Justin scampered off somewhere and she sank down onto the concrete, rested her back against the tire, and stared hopelessly out at her lawn.

It was pointless. He was a freak of nature. He’d never have friends. He’d never make use of all his bright intelligence. She shook her head. No, it was time to be honest with herself. How could he thrive without a good school, yes, but how could he thrive with a mother constantly demanding he “be happy” all the time? She put her head in her hands.

At some point in her slough of misery, she realized that Justin had been quiet for several minutes. The rain had stopped; a light mist was all that was left of the storm, and the afternoon sunlight made the pools of water gleam and sparkle. Guiltily, she pasted the wet hair out of her eyes and looked around to see where her son was.

“Justin? Honey? I’m sorry. It’s okay to be sad or scared or angry. I shouldn’t ask you to always be happy.” But where was he? She hadn’t scarred his little soul by her selfish demands, at least. She got up and went around the car.

He was crouched, perfectly still, half in a puddle, wonder in his eyes. A rainbow hung suspended, a misty splash of colors hung between steam and water. His nice clothes were soaked, his hair stuck up on one side, but his face was aglow. He felt her gaze and his eyes flicked to hers and then back to the rainbow.

“Wook.” He breathed. “What is it?”

“It’s a rainbow.” She whispered, feeling that speaking out loud would somehow destroy both the rainbow and the awe in her son’s eyes. “It’s made of light and water.”

“How?” He said. “Why?” He said. And then his gaze suddenly focused on her, intent and hungry. “I want to know.”

“Well…” She said. “Let’s go inside and look up a video. And…maybe I’ll get some books! We can go to the library!”

“Yeah!” He shouted and ran for the door, arms and legs pumping, full of excitement. Amy stopped and watched him, her head on one side, eyes narrowed, lip between her teeth. She grabbed the stack of soggy preschool brochures off the dash, strode to the trashcan, stuffed the brochures inside, and slammed the lid closed.  

“Mommy!” Justin shouted, jumping up and down trying to reach the screen door handle. “Help!”

“Coming, Justin!” she called, and walked away from the pile in the trash without a backwards glance.