Tears On The Agenda
After three years in an American school, M could not wait to move back into an international school. She had a choice in Vienna. The American International School in Vienna (AIS), or the Vienna International School (VIS). There was no doubt in her young mind. She was going to be a sixth grader at VIS. It was after all the UN school. The sister school of UNIS. United Nations International School. The school in Manhattan that celebrated diversity in both its students and teachers. The school with a playground that had a map of the world under her feet, and she travelled around the globe everyday. Several times a day.
Vienna International School. M thought she was going back to UNIS. And so did I. Until the first day of school.
Like UNIS, VIS had students and teachers from many countries. And because it was a UN school, many of the children had parents working at UN offices in Vienna. There were also many Austrian students whose parents were not connected to the UN.
Unlike UNIS though, not many students came and went. That year, there were only two new students in sixth grade. M and Nicey, an Indian girl whose parents were UN employees.
Everyone was nice to the new students. The teachers introduced them in class. The students showed them around. Everyone wanted to know if they could help. But there was one problem. Everyone had been in the same class since kindergarten. Together for the past six years. Their friendships were set in stone. Everyone belonged to a group, and for the girls, it was the norm to have a best friend. One best friend.
M and Nicey became best friends. They had no choice. They were put in the same class. The two new girls. What could be more natural. They had each other. Just like all the other girls. M liked Nicey. But she was miserable. She was having a tough time adjusting to the new school. Not surprising really. She was pre-pubescent. It would have been difficult. Even if we had not moved. To a new city. A new country. A new school. That is what I told myself.
Vienna. It was love at first sight for M. As we neared the center of the city, the grand circular boulevard known as the Ringstrasse, she felt like entering the land of fairy tales. She was mesmerized by the resplendent imperial buildings, by the massive stone statues, by the red and white streetcar. Everything was just like it was in the pictures. Everything was just as she had imagined. Everything but the new school.
But she liked going to school. She liked learning French again. She liked learning a new language. German.
M went to school from our apartment hotel in the heart of the city. She got on and off the U-bahn, the subway, at Stephansplatz. She passed by the Stephansdom cathedral and its Gothic spire at least twice a day.
She would go to school with Daddy in the morning. VIS was two subway stations away from his office. I would go and pick her up in the afternoon. And as she has done since kindergarten, she would tell me everything that happened in school. From the minute she let go of Daddy’s hand, and walked through the gates, to the minute she saw me in the school hallway. She always told me everything. Every single thing.
And I loved listening to her. M was a perceptive child, and she was very precise with her narratives. I had a clear picture of what the other girls were wearing. I knew exactly what conversations she had with whom. And I learned what the teachers taught that day. M had an excellent memory. It felt like I went to school with her.
As she reaches the end of her narrative, we would be walking along the cobblestoned street leading to our hotel. And I would be asking her if the day was finally sunny, still rainy, cloudy, or cloudy with a little bit of sun.
I was not really asking about the weather.
M was so miserable during those first few weeks that she cried herself to sleep every night. Very, very quietly. It broke my heart.
Time for Mommy talk about life.
Mommy: M, do you remember the rainy season in Japan?
M: It rained every day. All day.
Mommy: Yes, it did. But on some days, the sun would shine. And on other days, it would be just cloudy
Mommy: And does it rain all year in Japan?
Mommy: Let’s just say that you are going through the rainy season right now. A really bad day in school is a rainy day. A little bit of a bad day is a cloudy day. And if something nice happened, it is a cloudy day with a bit of sun. Let’s see what tomorrow’s weather is like.
And as we walked home along the historic streets of Vienna, I would be asking about the weather in school.
It stayed rainy for a while. And M’s cheeks were damp at night. And in the morning, as she put on her shoes, tears would leave small spots on her coat. It broke my heart.
Mommy: M, do you want to go and see what AIS is like? It may be like ASIJ.
Mommy: Do you want to stay home from school today? Spend the day with Mommy? Go to Diglas for schoko palaschinken?
M: No. I cannot miss German.
I silently thanked the German teacher.
The autumn wind grew colder. And it was still rainy at school. And my pillow was damp at night.
And then, M made a decision. The decision.
M: Mommy, it has been raining all week.
Mommy: Not a single cloudy day?
Mommy: Cloudy with a bit of sun?
M: I am going to cry tonight.
M: I am going to cry buckets.
M: I am going to cry very loudly.
M: I am going to cry for the last time. I won’t cry tomorrow.
And that night, M cried. Buckets. Sobbed. Loud. Very loud. And I cried. And Daddy cried.
It stayed rainy at school the following day. And it continued to be rainy for a while. But in our hotel room, it was fnally dry.