Scences from an Event

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© 2002 R.C. Barajas

Illustrations by Andrew Jackson

he walkie talkie is heavy in my hand and weighs on my mind. Press-talk? Talk-press? Evelyn? Can you hear me, Evelyn? Where are you? Evelyn?

Silence.

Oh what the hell... I end up never finding the Vice Principal on its frequency, but instead race up and down the stairs to monitor the evening's progress. It's too loud here anyway. I rely on visual confirmation and the occasional yelling into my ear canal.

I pass by the five 1st grade classes who are being shepherded into the hallway to await their turn. The high, tiny voices of the Montessori preschoolers now on stage are competing with the constant din of parents and children in the audience.

"Excuse me -- where is little Billy supposed to be? Is his class meeting somewhere?" A frazzled woman has grabbed my forearm. "We really don't know where he's supposed to be." Little Billy looks forlorn and on the verge of tears. I ask him who his teacher is. He mumbles something I cannot hear. His shorn head swivels this way and that, looking for anyone who might resemble a classmate. I motion them confidently in the direction of the multi-purpose room, though in truth, I have no idea where they should be. I glance at my watch -- the cafeteria clock has been covered by children's artwork -- and see that we have been going now for 48 minutes.

"We have a situation." My arm gets tugged over to the wall. A teacher has gone AWOL. Kids are scattered. We decide to jump ahead in the program to the Kindergartners, who are waiting in our Greenroom -- normally the Art Room. They will be performing a Bolivian dance, festooned in heartbreakingly charming costumes.
1st grade still waits in the hallway, chatting excitedly, wearing paper bag vests and holding large papier maché masks to their faces. They have already been lined up for 20 minutes. The teachers patrol the line like anxious border collies.

A few hours earlier we had been putting the finishing touches on the Visual Arts Gallery upstairs in the library. Last minute entries had us installing art work at 5:00. But Children's art, in its simplicity and honesty invariably eclipses all the administrative and logistical snafus surrounding Events such as this. Tonight it was the performances that were the unknown.

Just an hour ago, we'd left the Music Room -- which was now the Recital Hall -- where young performers would soon be valiantly trying to get their fingers around Bach, the Star Spangled Banner, and "Here Comes the Sun". We'd transformed the 1st grade Blue Pod into the "Bistro," setting up chairs facing the makeshift stage, leaving it poised and ready for kids who would wrestle with their stage fright to perform skits, dances and readings.

The line of 1st graders has now become restless. There are some signs of hands definitely not being kept to themselves. The teachers shush and reassure and glance toward the stage hopefully. The Kindergartners are on.

A parent sprints by: "I've lost little Billy! He just vanished!" She disappears off into the crowd before I can offer to help.

continued...