Posted on | May 30, 2014 | 1 Comment
This morning, I filled J’s water bottle for his official last day of school. I tucked it into the corner of my purse and went on about my morning ritual of brushing, washing, dressing and the like. To be honest, I didn’t think much about it being the last day of school because he’ll be in the same class next year, though it will officially be called “Kindergarten.” We piled into the car and chatted all the way to school and then parked directly in front of his building. Like we always do, he ran up the ramp and I chased him, making bets on who would reach the door first (always him) and who would reach the classroom first (still him).
It wasn’t until I reached into my purse to hand him his water bottle that I realized I’d forgotten to close the lid and the ice cold water had been leaking all over the contents of my purse all morning long.
A slow trickle of water, tanning the liner and pooling down in the forgotten corners of my purse.
All the way to work, that pool of ice water soaked through the neat and messy corners of my life. It slowly eased its way through the cracks and stitches of my bag and trickled down onto the passenger seat. All the way through the entryway of my building, a slow drip of water followed me, puddling into the corner of the elevator, trailing the click of my shoes against the cool tiles.
I dripped and splashed my way to my office, casually sitting the purse down against the floor, knowing that when I lifted it again the carpet would be darkly dull, marked by the slow spread of water. And I didn’t care.
Not really, anyway.
It didn’t bother me the way it could have, didn’t hound at me in the way it once would have, not so very long ago.
I didn’t sit and think and worry and twist myself in knots over the spill, over the mistake, over the silliness of placing an open water bottle in a full purse.
Instead, I let it drip. I let it trickle down my cheeks and heart and soul… an icy reminder that it’s okay to be a little broken, a little messy, a little unkempt. I let it trace its stain around my path, knowing that it’s only water, knowing that… well, like the tears I may have swallowed down at one more year past… this, too, will dry.
This too will dry and fade into nothing more than the faintest memory the next time I fill a water bottle.
The next time I kiss his cheek for the last day of another school year.