switching tracks

I left work early today and drove up to school. I needed the Academic Dean's signature on The Form.

I ate lunch in the law school cafeteria, deliberately picking a table near the cash register. The table filled up quickly. My former sectionmates, rushing into the cafeteria to grab some food before heading off to their classes, swapped in and out. Summer tales were traded and there were collective groans from those who were struggling with wait-listed classes. My belly was gently patted after a few shy requests.

Soon afternoon classes started and my classmates scattered. The cafeteria emptied out. I started trudging around the administrative offices of the law school, collecting signatures and finalizing my leave of absence.

All of the administrators were very supportive. "Believe me," the financial aid director mused as she signed my form with a flourish, "you'll never regret taking this time off."

I believe her.

Many years ago, when I was living in Italy, I took a trip with some Italian friends from our home in Bologna to Venice for Carnevale. We piled into the already-crowded train, masks in hand, chattering and giggling together.

There was a single older man in our compartment as well. We asked him if he was going to Carnevale as well.

He smiled. No, signorine, no.

Ma perchè no? We were curious.

He laughed. We must have seemed terribly young to him. He was not going to Venice for the party. No, he said, he was merely transferring trains at Venice, and headed into Eastern Europe.

I had forgotten the entire incident until today when it suddenly came back to me. When we asked him if he wanted to go to Carnevale, he had shrugged. C'è sempre Carnevale. It's always there.

I'm on a different track now, a different destination. I won't graduate with my classmates, and that makes me wistful. I'll miss learning law. But I'm headed somewhere else. There will always be law school and law. My son's first year, however, is a golden but entirely transitory destination. I can't wait to get there.