2002
‘Soon you’ll be six,’ Mom told him one day. ‘Nearly time for Big School. Won’t that be exciting?’
Noah didn’t want to be 6. He wanted to stay 5, and come home from play school and go to his room and take out red car, blue car, black car, yellow car, green. He wanted to go through his dinosaur book, picture by picture, and tell himself all about Achelousaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex and Triceratops, Noah’s favourite with its bird beak, three horns and frill around its neck.
That’s what he wanted but when his mom said, ‘Soon you’ll be 6,’ his room faded away and with it, all his 5 lined-up cars.
Noah had to hold on to 5. He could count to 5. There were 5 steps to his door if he stretched his legs wide, to the handle for down-up-down-up-open on 5, then into the passage for 5 steps and 5 more and 5 more and he was at the bathroom door, 5 small steps to the sink, 5 spokes on the tap that he could twist open, closed, open, closed, open 5 times when his mom wasn’t there to tell him off for wasting water.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5,
once I caught a fish alive.
6, 7, 8, 9, 10,
then I let it go again.
Noah caught 5. And he never wanted to let it go.
His mom couldn’t understand why he didn’t play with his ark any more, the one they bought him when Maddie was born. ‘Noah’s Ark, isn’t that just perfect?’
No. ‘Perfect’ to Noah was having 5 fingers on each hand, 5 toes on each foot. Noah was happy finding 5s. They kept him safe and sound.
He loved Mom, though, loved to lean against her and listen to her reading to him. He watched her hands with their polished tips. 5 nails on each pretty hand, 5 polished toes on each pretty foot. He saw them one summer’s day when she wore sandals and said, ‘Isn’t this weather glorious, Noah?’
That’s what she said, but her voice sounded like she was trying to make it cheerful.
He didn’t answer. His head was down and he was watching his feet step 1 2 3 4 5, and seeing his mom’s 5 pretty toes, flashing their way to the door of the Grade R classroom and all the way inside to the teacher’s table where Mom said, ‘This is Noah. Say hello to Miss Jonas.’
Miss Jonas was cuddly and soft, like the baby animals who used to march 2×2×2 into Noah’s ark.
He wanted to hold on to his mom’s hand, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t grab for her and he couldn’t run after her because his feet with their 5 toes were frozen in place and Mom was saying, ‘Bye-bye, Noah. You’ll have a fine time, sweetie-pie.’
He watched her reach the doorway. She turned and waved, and he lifted his 5-fingered hand in a starfish salute, and watched her leave.
‘Here’s your peg, Noah, see here,’ said Miss Jonas.
He felt a bit better when he saw his wooden peg was 5th in line on the wall.
He hung up his bag and then walked, 1 2 3 4 5 and 1 2 3 4 5 again, and sat on a cushion in the corner where he could see the whole classroom. He looked from object to object to object, fixing them in his mind like a sailor on the ocean, an explorer with a compass charting a brand-new world. Over and over he looked for his bag, hanging bright blue and new on the hook with its number 5 made of red stars. Each star had 5 points and that made him feel a little better.
His breath came out in a whoosh.
He sat quietly on his cushion, 5 and 5 steps from Miss Jonas’s table, 5, 5 and 5 steps from the classroom door, with all the steps in-between-and-outside waiting to be counted.
‘I have my work cut out for me.’ That’s what Dad said when he had a difficult job. This new place wasn’t going to be easy. Noah had his work cut out for him. Lots to explore and count. No wonder people said school was hard.