Yes I Can’t

I like to know ahead of time if a story has a happy ending, so sometimes I cheat and fast forward to the end of the movie or I turn first, to the last page in the book. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way in real life. Try as we might, it’s impossible to know ahead of time how things will turn out in the end and we can’t anticipate with any accuracy the things we might encounter along the way.

Between the first scene and that last line, between “once upon a time” and “they lived happily ever after” is when all hell usually breaks loose—just like in real life. And, just like in real life, the middle is the mystery; the place where the adventure plays out. The beginning is when we can choose to opt in. In the end is where we look back triumphant. But, the agony of not knowing how or whether every little thing will be alright—happens in between.

My eager hand shoots skyward with authority when she surveys the room for a volunteer. I am feeling lucky as I imagine that I might actually hear her say my name this time. I concentrate hard in an effort to increase my chances—hoping and quite frankly, fully expecting, so when she calls my name, I’m not at all surprised.

I stand up victoriously and head to the back of the classroom. Every one of those other fifth graders watches me with envy. I dutifully accept my prize—two fat and furry guinea pigs—as I proudly agree to assume my responsibilities—to take those guinea pigs home for the weekend with the pledge of getting them back to school safe and sound on Monday morning. In this moment, I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do.

But I will soon discover that winning the right to take care of a couple of guinea pigs for the weekend was not at all what I thought it was cracked up to be. I imagined in the beginning that I would be the hero at home, worshipped by my brothers and sisters for my fearless abandon as I handled those pigs like a pro, admired, and appreciated by my classmates upon my Monday morning return.

What I could not anticipate however, was that home alone after school, beyond the borders of my classroom and without my teacher and those kids looking on, those pigs would scare me half to death, escape from my grip, assume the run of the house, force me to seek refuge in the bathroom, reduce me to a screaming cry baby who now needed to be rescued by Brenda Roley’s mom who could hear my drama playing out from next door.