Love Dancing In the Rain

I'm not sure who exactly ended up with the hot dog bun and who, in shame, carried the hot dog wrapped in the last slice of stale bread. After sleeping through the alarm, scrounging up two socks that actually match, and a vicious fight over the remaining fruit roll up, we head to school in the rain.

The argument continues on the ride; making my morning even brighter and cheerier:

"Let me have it, I'm older and more mature. Besides, I will look like a freak with my hot dog wrapped in a slice of bread!"

"No! You already look like a freak, nobody will ever notice. Hey, isn't your shirt on inside out, Mr. Mature? Ugggg! You idiot! Momma, his shirt is on wrong!"

Then comes the old "Should I get out now? No, wait—it's too wet. It'll mess up my hair. Momma, pull up! No stop! Momma, you're embarrassing me! Pull up. No stop. Hold it!"

Sigh.

"Momma do you see her?"

"Uhhhh. There's many hers. Which her?"

"That girl in the pink pants with the purple shirt, UGG boots, and polka dot bows in her hair? She's the one. The one who was mean to me yesterday."

"No, I don't see her. I'm too busy licking the bumper of the Tahoe that's suddenly slammed on brakes in front of me."

"Did you cut up my apple?"

"No, was I supposed to?"

"Well, of course. I set it on the counter for you. I would have done it, but you said not to—you know, in case I cut my fingers off?"

"Nice 7:05 a.m. visual."

"Oh, I must have not seen it. Sorry. Perhaps it was hiding beneath the empty hot dog bag, or maybe it was under the egg shells that lay cracked and crumpled breeding salmonella because my children didn't clean up after breakfast this morning.

While one is sitting in the carpool line listening to the bickering, (that dern hot dog bun musta changed hands at least three different times,) I notice two little girls.

Months earlier, at the open house for middle school, a blond-haired blue-eyed cutie patootie was designated "Our Locker Girl." Locker girl bounced down the halls helping all the frazzled and intimidated sixth graders wrangle their "first ever" combination locks. We met Locker Girl a couple of times that busy morning. We kept tracking her down because we would forget how to turn the lock just so, making it open correctly. I remember her because Locker Girl was so patient, and by the time the open house was over, I'm seriously thinking Locker Girl knew our combination better than we did.

Anyhow, I watch as Locker Girl (oh what was her name—Lindsey? Lizzy? Ugg! Dunno, I'm sure it started with an L) came flying through the rain, laughing and splashing through the parking lot puddles. In the rain and on her back she carries two separate book bags and, in her arms, she carries a child her own size.

"Ahhh, look at those girls. Aren't they cute dancing in the rain?"

After a sprint, Locker Girl/Lindsey/Lizzy reaches the covered sidewalk and sets the child she is carrying down. Immediately, I see the legs of the child instantly became unsteady and as I look closer, I see that they are twisted, and turned. I'm not sure what she suffers from.

"That's her sister," my daughter tells me. "I see them together all the time at school. Her sister....well, she falls a lot and Locker Girl/Lindsey/Lizzy is always close by to lift her back to her feet."

"Hmm, and y'all were just mauling each other over a...what was it...a hot dog bun?"

Silence.

We watch as the two sisters make their way into the school building, all the while laughing, giggling, sometimes stumbling. A little crippled child and her sister; whatever her name may be: Locker Girl, Lindsey, Lizzy, Laura...you know what? Let's just call her Love.

Sissie Dale, the author of the just-released children's novel Bella Blue and a Dratted Blah Blah Day (OakTara), has been writing books since the time she could hold a pencil. Bella Blue and a Dratted Blah Blah Day won second place in the Sandhill Writers' Conference Contest. She and her two children live in Georgia.

www.bellabluesbabblings.com