Bryan Babel, Aged Six

 

BRYAN BABEL, AGED SIX

 

     Young Bryan Babel, aged six years and almost two months, wandered around the house on Loop Drive in a kind of expectant daze. He was not quite eager, and not quite afraid, but tense and twangling. This was his last Sunday of freedom, he knew; tomorrow was the first day of first grade, and after that school for twelve whole years; twice as long as he had been alive. The thought of the change to his life stretching so far ahead filled him with awe. He alternated between a desperate breeziness and a quiet, almost tortured introspection as he tried to imagine what it would be like.

     He had very little to go on. Most of his ideas came from Mike, and most of Mike's reports had been pretty encouraging. Mike had done well. But Mike was tough and strong and smart, much smarter than Bryan thought he could ever be. Mike was outgoing and seemed confident; being boss of his younger brothers had set him up well as a natural leader. Mike had made friends beyond the natural ring of their myriad cousins. In reaction, Bryan was a perpetual second-banana, quiet and hesitant, and he couldn't imagine living up to the mark his older brother had set.

     The one glimpse of school that he had had a few days earlier at registration hadn't set his mind at rest, either. The little rural school of McQueeney Elementary had seemed a seething labyrinth to his limited experience, a mob of strangers milling about a maze of a building, both chaotic and filled with a bewildering regimentation that must be obeyed. He had clung to Mom, and been reluctant to even greet the new teacher, Mrs. Roberts, who had somehow replaced the somewhat more familiar figure of Mike's first teacher, Mrs. Bilnitzer, on whom Bryan had developed much of his conceptions of what to expect. Another unknown element. Was she nice?

     In the back of his head, never fully acknowledged or possible even to realize, was that on the day Mom would leave him here, by himself, with all these strangers.

     And so he roamed the house, fretting, a pained smile on his face, as if he were trying to ingratiate himself to the world. Maybe it would go easy on him. Mike, after his effort of toughening him up with encouraging bullying and then giving up in disgust, had withdrawn into a superior space beyond Bryan's uncertain appeals. He was off by himself, already in the school zone.

     John and Kenny, the younger brothers, ran around playing without any concern, as if tomorrow would be no different. It would not be, for them. The only difference now was that both the big brothers would be gone, driven off to school in the morning, then return walking around the corner where the bus would drop them off, as Mike had done the year before. John and Kenny would have Mom to themselves all day. But today? Today was fried chicken, and Pop going off to work, and the Wonderful World of Disney to look forward to, and they scampered around, dressed only in their bathing suits in the early autumn heat.

     Bryan moved quietly into the kitchen. Mom was standing at the counter, hands deep in flour as she dipped and breaded chicken parts and placed them in the sizzling, popping electric fryer. The radio in the window was playing country-western songs, and she sang along as she dipped and dropped, dipped and dropped, almost dancing. Without a sound, Bryan came to stand at the far side of the formica kitchen table and put his hands around a corner, resting his head on the tabletop. It just fit. He ground his chin quietly against the comforting solidity of the table, jawbone working back and forth, and felt the vibration in his skull as he watched Mom working.

Notes

The beginnings of a little 'imaginative reconstruction' I did a few years ago. It never got any further. "Walking around the corner" was a daily ritual when the younger kids kept an eye out for the others (just Mike at first) as they came around Loop Drive from the bus stop. This was usually from the kitchen or (if you were tall enough) the dining room window. Exploring things with my mouth or chin was a habit I had when young. I remember gnawing on the kitchen window sill when I was small. I'm sure its paint (lead?) did me no favors. I now learn "While chewing behaviors are considered normal and developmentally appropriate to infants and toddlers, when it comes to school-aged kids, it can raise a red flag for parents that something is amiss. Some of the reasons for chewing may include anxiety, stress, sensory issues, boredom, and general habit."