Mom she is holding your backpack and waiting for you downstairs as you kneel on one knee and the other, just to pull up your socks. Off you go. On the bus you pass another bus, and the other bus there is a girl leaning her pillow of long brown hair against the window. In mornings details are finely realized. God leaves the sharpness setting on his television just a couple notches higher than usual in the morning. The busses peel apart. The people who talk to themselves in the nastiest voice talk to the loudest during social gatherings, to drown out Nasty Voice Zero.
You realize you left your calc. textbook on the kitchen table. A trip is made to the only carpeted room in school, the office of the principal and vice-principal and associated staff. At O:P/VP/AS, you ask to use the telephone and the Mrs. Whomever behind the desk peers at you from over her bifocals, almost cartoonishly, and says OK and you go behind her desk to the wall off of which hangs this beautiful black porcelain phone. Mom she answers, mid-coffee sip, and says of course yes no problem. She faxes over the appropriate pages.