Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Miss P.

I took you to the science academy on a day that was drizzly and overcast in San Francisco. As we hurriedly ran up the steps to the museum, with my arm wrapped around you, we laughed about how I wore the wrong outfit (for the second time). You had never been there before and I was happy to share the experience with you. You looked at everything with such awe, I was so grateful to see this world through your eyes. At the gift shop, I told you that you could pick anything you wanted. I showed you a pretty dolphin that hung on a silver chain but without hesitation you chose friendship bracelets. You chose something to share with me because that's the kind of sweet you are. You're such a sweet and soft soul, you're like pink cotton candy.

It's 9:30 pm and I'm playing music that I know you do not like in the background. The kitchen table is covered with water color paints, candy bowls filled with water, rolling paint brushes and sheets of paper. You are sitting there with such focused eyes and I watch you paint. I try to paint as well as you but I can't and instead I start laughing and laughing. I take a picture of my painting and send it to Brianna, so we can both laugh at how terrible it is. You laugh a little too, and try to teach me your technique but my imitation doesn't do yours justice. You dip your brush into a few colors and tap the brush onto the paper. Some paint droplets get onto the kitchen table and you look at me with a nervous expression on your face. You immediately apologize. Art should be messy, creativity should be messy, messes can always be cleaned up. I dip my brush into the paint and lightly splatter the paint onto you. An invitation. You look at me with a smile in your eyes, unsure. I start laughing and dip my brush again. We laugh and scream and chase each other and there is paint everywhere. I have paint on my cheeks, my eyes, my nose, my ears, my arms. There is paint on your cheeks, your eyes, your arms, your nose, your arms. There is paint all over my walls and all over the floor but nothing is covered more in paint than our skin and when we look into the mirror, I have never seen anything prettier. I tell you that you are art.

We're holding hands as we start walking into the busy city square. There are hundreds of people. Cars are honking, street lights blinking, the smells of San Francisco never change. The city streets are basking in blue light. We catch sight of the Christmas tree and you gasp. We walk by Neiman Marcus and you notice the huge tree in the center of the department store. You ask if we can go in and I say of course. We stand at the make up counters with the ladies with their perfectly applied make up and coiffed hair. You ask if we can walk around. I tell you we can do whatever you want. We walk around and make our way to the carousel like doors. 'I've only seen these in movies'. We're now thrown back into the busyness of the city. I forget how alive the city feels. You squeeze my hand a little tighter. You are in awe. Your tiny voice says, 'This is so, so beautiful. I cannot believe a place like this exists.' And in an instant, everything looks anew and I cannot believe it either.

There are quiet, sad moments too. We're sitting on the train and I have a bag of cinnamon twists between us. I wipe the tears rolling down your cheeks with a Taco Bell napkin and I kick myself for not having something softer for your cheeks. You rest your head on my shoulder and I hold you. I look at you, and wipe your tears again. I reach into the bag and pull out a cinnamon twist. I hand it to you and I grab one for myself. The cinnamon sugar sprinkle us like pixie dust. We sit like this as we thunder by each stop that is not ours. I pull you close and tell you that everything will be alright.

I don't know the exact reasons why I wanted to do this.
Actually, I do but it's a long explanation when it can be said so simply.
I do it because I want to.
I get to see the world differently because of you.
And I'm thankful for the time we spend together because the ordinary and familiar cease to be so, and it's all just wondrous.