Eventually

I watched as other elementary school parents vied for front of the pick-up line, last names brandished across the passenger-side visor for the teacher on duty to call out. I watched as each classmate, his name called, leapt from his crosslegged seat on the blacktop, into the welcoming arms of his air-conditioned car. I sat as they all left, until it was only me, like last time. Teachers’ feet tapped, questioned me. I tailed behind those feet through the halls into the principal’s office for the phone call to be made. The memory ends there. Surely she showed up eventually?