26 June 2007
Postcard From the Edge
Thanks for the "vacation".
Yes, those are REAL TEARS in my eyes. Aunt A expects me to SHARE the boys toys with them. As in: I am not allowed to hold all of the ball gloves and the bat and the ball at the same time.
Yes, that is a do-rag on my head, and those are tiny braids under it. Funny you didn't mention I'd be forced to participate in the horrifying act of someone making me play with boys prior to me being shipped off.
However, my servant, did you know that some people have dinner which includes more than one or two items and those two items aren't oatmeal and milk?
Were you aware that some servant's stay home all day with their kids and don't shuttle them off to other castles at very early hours in the morning?
Did you know that when I spit out the melon that the substitute servant cut up for me and said, "Ewww" with that sweet little infliction on the "w" part of it, that her heart broke in the exact same spot that yours does and that she loved me so much in that moment that she thought she might die?
Were you aware that your love for me, which naturally runs so deep and so true (how could it not), is the same love coursing through Aunt A's veins?
I might be young and I might be small and I might be unable to articulate what I feel when I look at her with my bright baby blues, but it's love at it's most unrefined.
No wonder you cry when you read that note from her that she gave you all those years ago and sigh when you look at that picture of her on the fridge.
Because part of you wishes that you were me, cuddled up with her at night, swinging next to her in the sun, painting toe nails and contemplating how to whittle away a perfect summer day.
It's not so bad here, mom. It's not so bad at all.
I wish you were here. And I know you do, too.
Love, Little A