I woke up at 5AM, which was very unusual for me. I have been sleeping in until 12PM lately but today felt different. Graduating has been a tough transition, but work has been a weird solace for me (not all the time, however). Work gave me purpose. Work never really felt like work. It never felt like it was something I had to do to get a paycheque, at least for this job anyways. Instead, it felt like something I was contributing to. Some unknown greater whole I never fully grasped. This whole didn’t fully exist in the present but could fully exist in the possibilities of the future.
I wolfed down my eggs and got sugary coffee in my system. I drove out to work and, on my way there, there was sunlight. I’m usually not awake at this hour, so it was refreshing to see. There was just enough sunlight to see the landscape of the snow-covered fields. The sunlight that has been slowly seeping into the mornings and evenings. It has been filling my soul more and more as the days have passed. The warmth of sunlight, and the hope of seeing green trees once again kept me going.
I got into the office, and I saw that I wasn’t on the schedule for the shift. For a split second, my sleep deprived body was relieved, it was a ticket to go home and sleep in. But my caffeine wired mind refused to leave (I was already there, I might as well work). I decided to stay for the shift because working with these children gave me hope and purpose; a chance to contribute to that whole. I let the kids sleep before they had to be woken up for school.
It was the bowl of Wow Butter. The ceramic bowl rings as it spins on its edges on the floor after it has been dropped. As the bowl flutters faster before it comes to a halt, like a Wow Butter smothered Euler’s disk. The sharp ring of the exit door goes off twice as a child runs out of care. They make a break for the highway. I sprinted after them (I got compliments from other kids later in the day, expressing how fast they saw me run and wanted to race me). I got ahead of the kid and used my body to block them from approaching the highway any closer. At that point, the child and I were off property, and a restraint could not have been done to prevent the child from jumping into traffic.
It was me and the kid standing on the side of a highway. Lifted trucks and other vehicles whipped past us at over 100 km/h. I could feel my arm being sucked towards the vehicles as they created the pressure differential as they passed. It was nothing but my arm and my body that was in between this child and oblivion coming in the form of a white Ford F-150. I didn’t feel anything in the moment. I was so focused on making sure this child didn’t jump or walk into traffic. Some cars slowed to a fatal 70 km/h and went around us, while others continued at their 120 km/h pace. I hope the drivers were frozen in fear and unintentionally kept their speed.
It was the belly breaths that got us on the same page. I knew I had to do some in the moment, if not for the child, but for me. Even though the adrenaline made me feel nothing in the moment, everything was at risk. We both did three breaths. As we coregulated, we sat on the side of the asphalt road, away enough from the vehicles. Looking out at an oddly elongated pink house in the distance. They agreed to return, so long as they got to show a specific person the rocks they picked up from the side of the road. I desperately agreed.
On our way back, we talked about Jolly Ranchers. I expressed how I loved the watermelon and cherry flavours, and the child expressed their strong disgust for it. We shared some giggles. They enjoyed the mango flavour of the tropical mango Jolly Ranchers, which I could get behind on. They got back into their house, and had their breakfast: chocolate chip pancakes, loaded with syrup and whipped cream with a side of ham. They showed the multitude of rocks they picked up and went to school on time.
I don’t know what would have happened that morning if I just went home. But, I know that that child is still here today. Hopefully, setting up for that greater whole, they were meant to be a part of. My life lately has revolved around the topic of hope. This child and all the others gives me hope. That things can get better. And if and when things get worse, we can overcome it. Together.