Do You Wanna Dance, Hold My Hand

I thought it was a good omen that we found parking right near the hotel. We entered the small, smartly appointed lobby and could already hear the music. Noah looked so sharp in his navy blue suit and pale blue button down shirt. I opened the door to the "party lobby" and immediately bumped into a small group of Noah's classmates--present and former. "Hi Noah. Do you remember my name?" "Noah, say hello to Ethan," I prompted. Ethan took Noah under wing and escorted him into the party room. My gratitude knew no bounds.

I followed behind, standing at the edge of the room, hoping that would be my perch for the night. But there was just too much going on for Noah. Too many people, too many colors, too much loud music. He left the room repeatedly, like some kind of toy that keeps bobbing to the surface when you try to push it back down. I couldn't blame him, but I desperately--maybe too desperately?--wanted him to keep trying.

Then Jolie found Noah. I don't know if Jolie just has a sweet crush on Noah, or if she simply likes him so much as a friend that she can't help but try to include him. "Do you want to dance, Noah? Will you take a picture with me?" On and off the photo line with Noah, Jolie kept trying. I lost count of the number of times he left that photo line--and the party room. But Jolie never gave up. And I kept pushing Noah back inside. Mostly figuratively, but sometimes literally. "You won't have popcorn after the party unless you dance with Jolie," I warned.

God, it seems almost cruel to manipulate a child like that. No, correction. It seems cruel to manipulate a fourteen year old like that. But Noah has no friends who come calling after school. There are volunteers who come to the house; not the same thing. I just don't want this flame of interest among his peers to go out. At least not as long as I can help keep it going.

Jolie and Noah finally had their picture taken and before we left, I asked Jolie if she could bring Noah's copy to school on Monday, since we weren't going to make it to anywhere near the end of the party. I also made sure Noah signed the party book for Elena. "Elena looks like a princess. Love, Noah Gold." Several kids came by to read what other kids had written to Elena. When they got to Noah's tribute, I heard a collective "Aww."

My heart, as usual, found itself in a couple of different places that Saturday night. It was lodged firmly in my chest, but it migrated to my throat now and again. It's tiring, inspiring, overwhelming and dispriting--often at the same time--to be with Noah, and to try to get Noah to be with his peers. It's just not an option to stop trying.