Challenge Submission A Little Push

[Lingeress]

Content Warning:

Implication of school shootings
The word 'unalive' mentioned
Themes of Life & Death​

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"Infinity has many faces
I see them all tonight
In you"

~Puscifer​

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She had never been to school before, but her mom had.

Her mother couldn't remember much of the kindergarten classroom she, herself, had attended. Yet, she could still recall every single face and name of the children she attended class with. It had been a private kindergarten, with a small class size. That old class picture helped to jog the ol' memory. It featured her mother's puffy-cheeked pumpkin art project, taped to a royal blue wall. It smiled behind the grinning faces of the students and teacher.

It must have been taken in October.

Looking around this classroom, the woman felt impressed. The cabinets were oak, with gray, patterned carpet underfoot. The light, gray-green walls were accented with a calming, deep purple. The entire room was decorated in a 'nature' theme.

Educational pictures—including an obligatory display of the alphabet, featuring images that started with the same letter—covered the walls. A large, wall-length whiteboard stood at the head of the room. Fairy lights strung outward like a spider's web from a central light in the ceiling. A lime-green, shaggy circular rug sat directly underneath. Short, little kids tables and chairs took up space on the floor around that rug. Storage cubbies for the students' belongings ran along a length of wall underneath windows. It was the only wall that had any.

Every corner had a different kind of educational play station. A kitchen playset was set up next to the cubbies. Loads of craft bins sat in bookcases that jutted out, acting as room separators. There was a reading corner, with stuffed animals, and kindergarten-sized camping chairs. A three-dimensional tree made from paper ran from the ceiling to the floor.

There were even electronic tablets charging in a docking bay set up on top of a classroom supply counter. The mother was informed that they were for use during free-play, or rainy days when the playground wasn't available. They weren't for everyday instruction. This elementary school had a more hands-on approach to learning. They wanted digital devices to remain at home so the students could focus easier.

Welcome to a modern day classroom, Mom. Public school actually looks like fun, turning education into something engaging to look forward to.

She would be safe here. Unless America's favorite cocktail—mixing anger with guns—came sloshing up to the school grounds.

But that was a distant worry, a niggling in the back of a parent's mind knowing it happens, but "it can't happen to me." It's a cultural fear that is easier to set aside, in order to focus on present issues that are more tangible to deal with.

As a parent, we can't protect them from everything. It is our duty to give them roots, but we must also give them wings.

Her mother stood there, seeing the future in her daughter's wide, excited eyes, proud that she had made it this far.

She was still alive. She almost hadn't been born. SIDS hadn't taken her when she was an infant. And her mother had been able to protect her from herself—all the attempts she had made to unalive herself when she was a toddler.

Those sharp, carpet staples her mom would find inside her mouth still remained a mystery. It was as if the universe was testing her mother's protective capabilities as a parent. That cat tree scratching post remained the most likely culprit.

Her mother was amazed that anyone had survived that delirious, sleep-deprived phase of caretaking. Well, the cats hadn't, but they were both fifteen. Their time had unfortunately come. That cat tree ended up meeting its retirement, too.

Middle aged, late in life starting parenthood, her mother gazed on at the nervous, eager kindergartner who was checking out her classroom for the first time.

The pendulum of life for the mom was hanging low in mid-swing. The woman stood at the precipice of the middle of life's timeline, eternity stretching out in every direction.

Turning back, the mother could see all her life experiences that had led up to this moment. Turning ahead, the mother could see infinity expanding before her. It shined through her daughter's brown-hazel eyes. Eyes that looked at the world with awe, goofiness, and wonder.

One day, she will help walk me out of this life. Until that day, I will walk with her. I will guide her, and protect her, and watch while her wings sprout and grow. Then, I will give her a little push.

The mom absentmindedly fiddled with the pendant around her neck. It was in the shape of an empty bird's nest.