The Little Window Wave

Maddox held one hand up at the cubby door, just like he had at the car that morning.

At home, he and Papa had a goodbye wave they used every day. They stood on opposite sides of the front window. Papa made a small square with his thumbs and fingers, like a tiny window. Then he waved through it. Maddox waved back through his own window.

“See you soon, little window,” Papa always said.

Now Maddox stood in the preschool cubby room with his lunch bag tucked under one arm. He lifted his hand toward the front door, but Papa’s car was already gone. The hallway smelled like crayons and apple slices. A row of cubbies stood along the wall, each with a picture above it. Maddox found the one with a blue kite.

Jules was hanging up a yellow jacket in the next cubby. “I have a kite, too,” Jules said, pointing to a drawing on the jacket pocket.

Maddox looked at the little kite. “Mine is blue.”

“Mine is yellow,” Jules said. “Maybe they can fly together.”

Ms. Fern, their teacher, clapped her hands softly. “It’s time for blocks and drawing. Garden time comes after.”

Maddox followed Jules into the classroom. He chose a red crayon and drew a square window with a blue kite outside it. He drew another kite beside it, yellow and lopsided.

“That one looks like it’s doing a wiggle,” Jules said.

“It’s a windy kite,” Maddox replied.

For a while, the crayons scratched and the blocks clicked. Maddox’s picture stayed on the table. He kept thinking about the goodbye wave. He wanted Jules to see it before garden time, so Jules could know the hello that came from home.

When Ms. Fern said, “Let’s get ready to go outside,” Maddox picked up his drawing and walked toward the classroom window.

A tall shelf stood in front of it. The shelf was stacked with puzzles and baskets. Not even a strip of glass showed above it.

Maddox stopped. His fingers curled around the paper. Outside, the garden was waiting, but the window was gone behind the shelf.

Jules came over, wearing the yellow jacket. “Are you coming?”

Maddox looked at the shelf. He could not see the classroom window, and Papa was far away at work. The garden door stood open, but his feet stayed planted on the floor.

“I wanted to show you our wave,” he said. His voice came out small. “The one I do with Papa.”

Jules glanced at the tall shelf. “Could we move it?”

Ms. Fern shook her head. “That shelf is too heavy for us. It needs to stay right here.” She held the garden door while a few children went out. Their shoes pattered along the path.

Maddox watched the last child disappear outside. He missed the front window at home. He missed Papa’s hand making a square, and the way the wave waited on the other side.

Jules sat beside him on the rug. “Can you show me the wave without the window?”

Maddox looked at his hands. He touched his thumbs together. Then he touched his pointer fingers together above them. His hands made a small square.

“Like this,” he said. He held the square up and peered through it. “It’s a little window.”

Jules copied him. One thumb slipped, and the square turned into a wobbly diamond.

“That’s a funny window,” Maddox said.

“It has a slanted roof,” Jules replied. “Now what?”

Maddox lifted his hand behind the little opening and waved his fingers. “You wave through it.”

Jules waved through the wobbly window. Maddox waved through his own. Back and forth they went: wave, pause, wave. The classroom shelf stayed tall, but it did not block their hand-made windows.

Ms. Fern smiled from the garden door. “Those are lovely windows. Shall I save you a place by the bean trellis?”

Maddox looked at Jules. His stomach still felt pinched with missing-home feelings. But his hands knew what to do.

“Let’s go together,” he said.

They stood facing each other for one more wave. Maddox made a square. Jules made a slanted one. Their fingers waved through the little openings.

Then they lowered their hands and stepped through the garden door side by side.

The garden path was edged with smooth stones. Near the bean trellis, little green leaves curled around their strings. Maddox and Jules walked slowly, matching their steps: one, two; one, two.

A watering can sat beside a row of pots. Ms. Fern gave them each a small cup of water. Maddox tipped his cup over a sprout with two round leaves. Jules watered the pot beside it.

“Your sprout has a tiny hat,” Jules said.

Maddox looked closer. A pale seed husk rested on one leaf like a cap. “It’s getting ready to go somewhere,” he said.

“Maybe it wants to see the garden.”

Maddox held his fingers in a square around the sprout. Jules made a crooked window beside his. They waved through their hand-made openings, and the leaves trembled when a breeze crossed the garden.

After watering, they sat on the low wooden bench. Maddox missed home still. He thought of Papa waiting at the front window, and of the blue kite picture on the classroom table. He could miss home and remember the wave at the same time.

Jules leaned over. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Maddox said. “We can make windows anywhere.”

When the class went inside, Maddox found his drawing on the table. The blue kite and the wiggly yellow one flew beside a square window. He tucked the paper into his cubby, then put on his jacket.

At pickup, Papa was waiting by the door. Maddox hurried to him, held his hands up, and made a little square. Papa made one, too. They waved through their windows, just as they had that morning.

At home, Maddox told Papa about Jules’s slanted window and the sprout with its seed-husk hat. Papa listened while they ate supper. Later, Maddox brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. His hands rested on the blanket, thumbs touching, fingers making a small square.

Tomorrow, he could bring that little window with him. For now, he pictured Jules waving back, and the garden leaves nodding beside them. Papa’s familiar hello was far away, but a piece of it had traveled with him all day.

Maddox closed his eyes, holding the little window in his mind as the house settled into bedtime quiet.