Beauty in the day: he came and stood at the tall end of the desk, his eyes peeking at me. I asked him why he was there.
“Well, I was in line, and [one classmate] got in line in front of me….” he trailed off for just a moment, and looked distant – then resumed. “And [other classmate] got in line behind me.”
I waited for the terrible tragedy that must have befallen him at this point.
He blinked. Three times, I think.
That was it. The tragedy.
At least, that was all I was getting.
Beauty in the day: standing in line to see the Terra Cotta Warriors led to another wait in a darkened vestibule. Little 7-ish-year-old waiting near me with mom and dad was finding the wait to be – well – challenging. It became apparent that the little one was involved in dance or cheer, as she was doing steps and arm motions in her spot, much to the consternation of her mother, who would whisper to her to stop. Little One would stop, but the rhythm had a hold of her, and within seconds she would be back at it, only to be reminded by mom to stop again. This continued (to my delight), and gave credence to Maya Angelou’s quote: “Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”
Beauty in the day: he came in at 8:01. “Miss Nordstrom, my mom thought I was really late, so-”
“Great news!” I interrupted. “You’re not late! Go line up!”
“But,” he began again. “My mom thought I was really late, and she said I need to get one of those pink passes!”
“Good news!” I exclaimed, with great energy. “She was mistaken, and you don’t need a pass! Go line up!”
He turned to leave, but walked s.l.o.w.l.y. toward the office table, his shoulders somewhat slumped.
“Wait, Friend! Don’t go yet!” I hurried to get a pink pass and pen. “You really ought to take this with you, actually.”
Taking it, he practically skipped out. He made the line just prior to the ringing bell.