Step One: Wash Hands

“Is there anything I need to know?”

“You’re going to love this bunch. They’ve been the best in years. Keep an eye here. She’s really afraid.”

“Afraid of what? School?”

“Yeah, not exactly, she’s afraid of getting sick. Do you want details?”

“No. I’ll come see you when I’m ready,” Mrs. Ellis said. She liked to get to know her students herself. It never seemed fair that someone else got to give her the first impression of any of them.

No past judgment would make any sense this year anyway. It was going to be so different from any of the sixteen years she’d already taught. No sitting at tables; just one island desk lined up after one island desk. No sharing crayons, markers, or scissors. No gathering together on the rug to hear a story. They couldn’t even all come on the same day. Hybrid learning meant on Day A blue was in person and gold attended online but on Day B gold was in person and blue online. It didn’t make sense to her yet, either. They were supposed to get to know one another, though. Create a community. Be sure everyone feels safe. Learn to share and play and get along. But don’t get too close and do wash hands frequently. In fact, schedule to wash your hands a minimum of four times throughout the day, and try not to touch their papers. 

Afraid of getting sick, though? She could relate. She remembered reading Madeline as a young child. And then crying herself to sleep at night. Every time she closed her eyes all she could picture was that one page, the one where Madeline sat up in her bed in the middle of the rows of beds and cried. Turned out she was crying because she had appendicitis. Her mom was a nurse and explained that it was rare. The doctors had medicine so it didn’t hurt. A simple surgery cured it. And her mom reminded her you could only worry about what you could control. She tried really hard to only worry about what she could control. But she still prayed every night that she and her whole family would wake up healthy every morning. She still does and now during the day sometimes, too. 

On the first day Mrs. Ellis waited for Lottie in the doorway. The principal had stopped by earlier and said not to worry; they had a plan to get Lottie to the room. Seemed like a bit of a warning flag. The children arrived one at a time. Each of them was more quiet than usual. She said good morning to them in the doorway and invited them to find their own desks. Once in the room they seemed to walk in slow motion past each island desk checking for their name tag. Two baseball playing boys almost gave each other a high five, but they thought better of it. Some tried out a hesitant one handed wave to the friends they recognized through a mask. 

She remembered her first day at school as the teacher. The kids asked her where the lunch basket was. She didn’t know she needed one of those. She led them down the ‘up’ stairs to get to the cafeteria. She didn’t know there were ‘up’ and ‘down’ stairs. There were a lot of things she didn’t know, so she made split decisions as she went. She was the teacher, so whatever she said went as long as she said it confidently. She made sure to also say it respectably and reassuringly and warmly. 

There was Lottie. It had to be her rounding the corner. It was supposed to be 87 degrees out today, but Lottie was wearing jeans and a long sleeve, bright pink shirt. Pulled low over her eyes was a trucker style My Little Pony Hat. The lavender bill shaded her face right down to her cloth mask, also My Little Pony. Now didn’t seem like the right time to say no hats allowed. 

“Good morning! Are you Lottie? I’m Mrs. Ellis.” 

No response. 

“Welcome to 2nd grade! Let’s go see our classroom.” 

No response. 

Lottie backed up. Only three steps. But the way she leaned back from the waist up gave away her intentions. It was all she could do to get this far, and she had changed her mind already. This was a terrible idea. She tilted her head up just enough to reveal her round blue eyes, tired and teary. 

“Come check it out?” Mrs. Ellis offered. 

No response. 

Naturally she wanted to extend a hand to Lottie. Gently lead her to the classroom. That’s when most kids leaned in for the tiniest of one armed side hugs. Not this year. Distance Guideline for Safe Schools Number 1: stay six feet away from all persons at all times. 

In the moment it took for that rule to flash before her eyes, Lottie turned on her heel and determinedly stepped off. She could only be headed back to the front door. Mrs. Ellis reached out and hesitated. Then with one finger she lightly hooked the carrying strap on the top of Lottie’s backpack. She couldn’t really never touch anything of theirs anyway. That idea didn’t even last ten minutes. She’d just have to wash her hands as soon as she got back to the classroom and not touch anything before. Or she could use the hand sanitizer that dangled from her lanyard with her school ID and classroom keys provided by the school nurse’s office as a welcome back token to all of the teachers. It had a cute little ‘Hands down, you’re the best teacher around!’ sticker on the front and ‘Call me when you need a hand!’ sticker on the back. Darling and thoughtful but somehow ironic. It made Mrs. Ellis feel like she needed to be protected from her students. Would it upset Lottie to know that just grazing her belongings made the teacher need wash her hands? No matter, too late now. 

The slightest bit of resistance slowed Lottie just enough. It took four quick strides to get in front of her. But then what? Mrs. Ellis walked backward slowing her pace to a stop. Lottie took a side step left; Mrs. Ellis took a side step right. Lottie took a side step right, then left; Mrs. Ellis countered left, then right. She dropped to Lottie’s height. 

“Let’s try it. It’s the first day,” Mrs. Ellis quietly pleaded.

“Mom. I want my mom. I want to go home,” Lottie whispered. 

Mrs. Ellis thought of her own kids, not her students but her children at home. They ended last year remote learning, too, but would now be heading back to school. Her oldest, also in second grade, wasn’t so sure. The mask was some comfort, but he was still saying he wasn’t going to eat lunch because he’d have to take it off to do so. While she told him it would be okay because they were sitting six feet apart and there were so few children allowed at a time to eat, she could only hope she was right. That skeptical look in his big blue eyes that she could just see under his shaggy blond hair told her he didn’t really believe it. He wouldn’t get a haircut either because he didn’t want to take his mask off. He had to eat because he was just a child. She had switched to a protein shake herself so she wouldn’t have to touch anything.

“Your mom will be back for you at 3:30. Let’s try the first day together.”

No response. 

She had made the same decision. The school registration form had a box for in person and a box for remote. In some weird way it reminded her of 9/11. Her second grader asked her why he had to go. Why couldn’t he just stay home? As soon as the airplanes started flying again she sat in the dining room, tears streaming, talking to her dad on the phone. She’d asked her mom all day long why he had to fly? Why he had to be the first person back on a plane? Her mom said to ask. When he called that night she did. He simply said because we can. We have the freedom to. If we let fear win, if no one flies anywhere because we’re afraid of what happens, then we’ve lost. We can’t live the rest of our lives in fear. This kind of felt like that. Scary. But we can’t live the rest of our lives in fear, can we? We have to go to school, and we have to work. So she had clicked in person on the school registration form.

The paraprofessional assigned to the room to assist another student poked her head around the door frame. Her eyebrows raised. Mrs. Ellis gave the slightest of head shakes no looking over Lottie’s hat, and the para disappeared from sight. This moment needed to be quiet and calm and the foundation of a whole new year. 

“Do you like to color, Lottie?”

No response. 

She stood up and put her arms out low and to the sides. She hoped Lottie would allow herself to be ushered in. She confidently but gently took a small step next to Lottie one arm outstretched toward the door leading the way. 

“The first thing we are going to do is wash our hands,” she said as she took another step, “because everyone does now.”

“Everyone washes their hands?” Lottie asked when she turned her head up toward Mrs. Ellis. Her feet sliding slowly down the hall. 

“Everyone. Wash hands and then wash your desk, so you have your own clean place to work. But let’s just go one step at a time,” she told both Lottie and herself. 

Lottie didn’t realize they arrived at the door. She hesitated, focused her eyes on the sink, and put one foot in front of the other. Mrs. Ellis opened her personal hand sanitizer quietly so the cap didn’t make that clicking sound for everyone to hear. She rubbed the disinfectant into her hands, careful not to miss around the fingernails and the little webbing between the fingers. When she thought she heard Lottie humming “Happy Birthday,” the song being the recommended length of time one was supposed to wash one’s hands, she wanted to cry for her already cracking knuckles and for the children spread six feet apart around the room looking at her wide eyed and silently. But instead she gathered herself, grabbed the easily accessible spray bottle of child safe surface cleaner and towel, and waited at Lottie’s desk. Perhaps they would see the patient smile, hidden behind her mask, in her eyes.