.

“You’ll be too warm,” she said.

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“Cooler days will be coming way sooner than you think.”

I knew my mother was right, but I was bound and determined to wear my one new fall outfit for the first day of seventh grade at Central Junior High School. It had been on lay-a-way at Herberger’s Department store since the end of July. I went with my mom every store visit, the clerk letting me try it on each time as my mom paid down a little bit more. The ensemble, a word I had just learned, was a pair of chestnut gaucho pants with a striped matching turtleneck and knee length socks. In the comfort of the air-conditioned fitting room, I marveled in the three-way mirrors, knowing, I think for the first time, the feeling my mother had when doing the same. You can call it vanity, but I don’t think so.

I watched her get dressed each morning. Piece by piece. It was an exercise in confidence. From shoes to earrings, it was a path to get out the door. A boost. A head-start, some days in an inconceivable race.

I attended sixth grade in that same school, but our classrooms were placed in an upstairs corner. We didn’t interact with the seventh through ninth graders. We used the side entrance, across from the Police Station. Let out only for lunch and gym, we were nearly invisible. But not this year. This year we were going to be a part of the Junior High School Class! Of course at the bottom, but in the race nonetheless. Everything would be brand new. I knew I needed those gaucho pants. My mother knew it as well. She didn’t put up a fight.

The Superintendent’s office that she worked in was located in that same school, just under the sixth grade classrooms. I rode with her to work. We had entered the same side door for a year.

This first day of my seventh grade year, I got dressed in her bedroom. She had the only full length mirror in the house. We drove through town with the windows rolled down. But she didn’t turn on our usual street. “What are you doing?” I asked, “Aren’t you going to park where you normally do?” “Yes, I will,” she said, “but after I drop you off. Today, you’re going through the front entrance.” I couldn’t stop smiling as she pulled up in front of the big double doors. I didn’t even notice the beads of sweat near my baretted bangs. I waved goodbye. I saw my reflection in the glass trophy case that welcomed the students. I guess it was meant for aspiration, but I already had mine — it, she, was driving to park by the side door.