“I saw you yesterday!” Jordan greeted me excitedly when I entered his third-grade classroom.
You did? Where was I? I asked him.
“You were in your car.”
Was I even in my car yesterday, I wondered. I backtracked in my head over the previous day. I remembered that I mowed the lawn and then went for a run. No, the car on Monday was parked right where I left it on Friday.
“You have a pretty big car, right? Dark red?”
My car is small, I told him, and gold-colored. You’ve seen it in the school parking lot.
“You were driving near the dead-end street off Lakeview,” he said.
Wait, was the guy behind the wheel a very handsome man, I asked him.
Well, then, it wasn’t me, I said.
Later that afternoon, Remi was concluding the day with her “Star of the Week” presentation. It’s a prolonged show-and-tell in which the children take turns revealing themselves to their classmates via poster, photographs, drawings, and personal artifacts. There were photos of Remi as a baby and others at various ages, with family members, and at different vacation spots.
“This is my dog,” Remi said, pulling a stuffed animal out of a tote bag. “And look, she has puppies,” unzipping four smaller stuffed animals from the mother dog’s stomach. Remi also talked about a purple plush carry-all bought for her in Italy by her musician father.
“And here is my favorite,” she said, holding up a locket on a ribbon. “It was my great grandma’s.” She opened the locket. “This is a spot for a small photo of me, but I didn’t put one in yet.”
I was standing next to Athan, one of her classmates, during this part of the presentation. He motioned for me to lean over so that he could say something. When I did, he whispered conspiratorially, “Sometimes when two people are in love, they put photos of each other in the locket.”