Elementary School

On a run yesterday afternoon, I passed the elementary school near my house right as the buses were pulling out. The little baby crossing guards were wearing their little baby neon vests, and there were swarms of parents and children waiting to cross the street. I was instantly reminded of my own proud days as a patrol in 6th grade, and for the duration of my run I couldn't rid my head of its archive of vivid images of myself in elementary school. If this were a cheesy '90s television show, this would be where the character looks upward thoughtfully while the picture is distorted in waves and the dream sequence music starts to play in the background...

In elementary school (not the one I ran past), I was the dork who sat in the first seat of the bus, behind the driver, hugging my backpack to my stomach. I was quiet. I faced forward. I always waited for her signal to cross the street. During the holiday season when my mom would bake multitudinous loaves of cranberry and zucchini bread to hand out to neighbors and the mailwoman and garbageman, I delivered one to my bus driver with a sheepish smile. (Practically everything I did in elementary school was sheepish.) We knew each other by name. She knew where I lived and would sometimes drop me off right at the end of my driveway rather than down the street where the bus stop was, thereby making all the other kids walk. I considered it a small victory and celebrated quietly.

At Kokanee Elementary, I was friends with my principal. We had this thing where we would try to beat the other person to say, "My bus driver loves you." I'm sure it made sense back then, but right now I haven't the faintest idea how such a game came about. Whatever the reason, little Olivia found it endlessly entertaining. All I can think now is, God I was obnoxious.

I would spend recesses with my best friend Juliet rustling through the bushes looking for tiny colorful plastic balls--well, they were more like closed cylinders the size of a couple seed beads-- which we referred to as "Indian Beads." We made daisy chains and started a cartwheel club, of which we were the only two members. During track season, we borrowed a baton from our P.E. teacher and practiced relay hand-offs on the field. Juliet was the 3rd leg and I was the anchor. We were damn good. Sometimes we sat against the chain link fence outside our 4th grade classroom, where there were several 50-yard dash lanes painted onto the blacktop. Our teacher drove a battered white pickup which he often drove down to the classroom from the teachers' parking lot. For some reason, and again Elementary School Humor is clearly lost on Early-Twenties Me, Juliet and I got a kick out of standing at the end of the 5o-yard dash with our planted apart and our arms outstretched over our heads and begging our teacher to hit us with his car. I suspect we had even less intention of getting hit as Mr. W. did of hitting us, because every time he would get within ten feet of where we stood we would disperse, screaming.

One year for our school musical (Disney themed), I was Dumbo and Captain Hook. Dumbo because evidently my music teacher thought the part would suit me (should that have flattered me? "Here Olivia, you're just the person to wear this nice elephant suit!"), and Captain Hook because I had long, dark, curly hair and was the only person cast in the dance who was mature enough to handle a foot-long fake sword. Coincidentally I was the only girl. Go figure. That was the same musical in which I sang "Colors of the Wind" from Pocahontas while dressed in a black leotard (the first and last time I will ever wear a leotard) with a tri-colored skirt made from strips of sheer fabric. It was pimpin', let me tell you, and I stood proudly with my microphone despite the fact that my music teacher gave my first choice song, "Just Around the Riverbend," to a prettier girl with an even prettier voice who didn't even show up to audition. I seriously had to call this girl in front of my teacher and asked which song she wanted. I will never ever forget that.

I remember lots of jump roping, lots of double-unders and running laps around the gym to No Doubt's "Don't Speak." (Ah, the '90s.) I remember intense tetherball tournaments, and how one day during recess one kid (whose name and face I can recall perfectly but who shall, for the sake of privacy, remain anonymous) got whipped in the forehead with a kamikaze chain that had ripped itself off the pole. I remember being insanely jealous of the kids in the AV Club. I remember my friend braiding my hair while we sat in the foyer with our class and the other classes in the pod, listening to a teacher read to us from Where the Red Fern Grows. I remember the Shakespeare plays that our librarian used to direct, and how the only fight Juliet and I ever got in was over who would play Dromeo of Ephesus in The Comedy of Errors. (I got the part while Juliet played my twin, Dromeo of Syracuse. It suited us because back then we basically were twins. Fraternal, though, because the only physical trait we shared was curly hair.) I remember sitting in the cafeteria one day at lunch when a teacher told us to "eat the good stuff first." If her intention was to have us eat the healthy stuff, she should have been more specific. As it was, that statement signaled the start of a long and glorious tradition among my friends of beginning our meals with our desserts.

That's all for now. Go Kodiaks.
(Yes, our mascot is a predator of our school's namesake. 'Cause we're just that cool. And yes, I still consider myself a student.)