Expectation

The buses had already left.  Only a handful of students played around the principal's office, shooting marbles or running back and forth to the treehouse while waiting to be picked up.  Prof William and I sat on the cement against the office wall; Anita stood guard at the imaginary line separating the anxious students from the dangerous driveway of moving vehicles.

One little boy spotted his mom pulling up to the gate at the bottom of the hill.  He quickly picked up his lunchbox and shouldered his bookbag.  He took a forceful step forward, as if to run; then, checked by an unseen hand, stopped abruptly.  He shuffled his lunchbox in his hands and stared longingly at the white SUV just now passing through the gate and past the guard, and sighed at the delay.  His eyes, locked on the vehicle, with his thoughts surely on the person within, followed it to the top.

The three of us exchanged grins as we appreciated his intensity and unabashed anticipation.  Miss Anita extended her hand, and he eagerly rushed forward to grasp it, his ferry across the invisible line separating him from home.