Getting out of the car
for school
in the morning
is deceptively simple:
swing one leg over,
then the other,
set both feet on the pavement,
don't forget your backpack.
Somehow, though,
it's more than just
those four simple steps.
It's more like crossing a boundary,
an invisible bridge
from a place where everything is right
to a place where nothing is right,
from a Natalie who chatters, laughing and joking,
to a silent Natalie who stares at her shoes,
from a perfect state of calm
to a state of utter panic.
Getting out of the car
is deceptively simple.