Notoriously Beautiful

11

Permission Granted

A mellow heart makes for a humble person, a mellow mind makes for a wise person. A humble heart makes for a kind person, a humble mind makes for a mellow person. But is he who bears the mellow mind and heart mellow or humble? Both, or neither, or does it matter at all?
I love riddles like these. It's not just a puzzle, it's more. It's so intense, it makes me want to figure it out. What's the answer? I think it doesn't make sense at all but then my mind tells me, "maybe we can figure this mumble jumble out".
Everyone has their own interpretation of it, that's why it's so frustrating, you will never get the answer right. In a different outlook you can never get the answer wrong, but that's too easy. That's like going to an arcade and the game says play until you win, that's ridiculous, everyone can't win, that throws off the whole balance of the universe or something.
In high school my mom would often tell me I was competitive, and that she'd never seen that side of me. She was just being blind. I was always competitive, but I was never a sore loser, I knew better.

(Three days later. Friday, afternoon)
The time flew, It was a calm, peaceful week. Work was work, it's good. My mother was enjoying our time together, and I was enjoying our time apart. I'm only kidding, I love doing things with my mom. She's so sweet, so gentle. Today though, Friday is always the best day of the week. Something really, really nice happens each week on this day, friday. Fri-day, words are so strange. I know they all have some kind of origin but the English language makes no sense sometimes. So many rules to follow when conversing and writing. Crazy, I know.
I hear a shout, "Bella!" Then I hear the rattling of my house's gate. So I go outside, and of course, who else would it be. The one and only,
"Marco!" I say.
"I leave the gate unlocked you know," I say, laughing.
"Oh, I didn't want to be disrespectful, and come in without permission," he says.
Of course now I have to give him permission. Not that I don't want to, it's just I literally can't stop myself.
"I grant you access to come into my living space. Permission granted," I say, saluting him like a soldier.
"I think that means I can come in, right," he says, grinning.
"Yes sir," I say, opening the gate, and turning around so that my eyes are hooked on the front door. Sometimes I just forget that he doesn't speak fluent English. Sometimes he probably just nods his head sometimes I'm agreeable of stuff he doesn't even understand.
"Wait," he says.
I turn back around to him,
"What's wrong," I ask.
"Would you like to go out on a date," he asks.
Like an idiot I ask him if he meant with me. Of course with me, who was he asking my mom? Sometimes I'm so blank. Words run through my ears, not going zap into my brain, as they should be doing.
"Of course, I would love to," I say, finally.
"Nice. Tomorrow?" He say.
"Perfect," I say.
I take a long look at him squinting, "only nice?" I ask.
"I'm overwhelmed with happiness, is that better?" He says.
All I'm thinking is how the hell he learned all this English, in school. In New York, in my high school, foreign language was the easiest class. You didn't learn anything unless you were smart or you had already known a little of the language.
He comes into the house and meets my mom, for real though, not like when he met her in the taxi. I tell my mom that we've become really good friends. My mom takes the 'hint'. I love old movies. I see Marco pick up the remote, he flips through the channels. He stops, and puts the remote down. I watch him stand there, waiting. I try to figure out what for.
"Well," he says.
He's waiting for me to sit before he does. I sit in the sorbet of my L shaped couch. I spread my legs out so they are at a 90 degree angle. I grab two pillows and put one in between my legs and the other on top of that one. I've created a place to lay my head and a position to stretch my lower back.
"Where should I sit?" Marco asks.
"Wherever you want," I say.
I see my mom turn the other way and I hear her chuckle.
"So I can sit anywhere?" He asks.
"That IS what I said," I say.
"So I can sit over here?" He says pointing to my beautiful plant I've been growing, that I don't know the name of.
"Very funny," I say.
"Oh excuse me, you meant anywhere on the couch," he says.
"Yes?" I say, a little nervously.
"So, I can sit here?" He comes closer to me, I pick my head up off the pillows. So he lays his head on the pillows, right on top of my lap.
"I guess you could, I mean even though technically your laying down, and I said you can 'sit' anywhere on the couch," I say.
"Well technically, these pillows are so soft that I HAD to lay my head here," he says back.
"Well technically you didn't know how soft they were until you felt them," I say.
Wow, you really want to win this word war that bad," he says.
"I kinda really do," I laugh.
We turn on an old black and white Italian film. My mom is even listening to the movie with one ear (so to speak). I could tell she is trying to hear what Marco and I are talking about.
I decide to prank her. She goes to the bathroom, and I tell Marco that she is definitely listening so I told him to just go along with whatever I say when she returns.
"Marco, shhhhh, don't let my mom hear, I put my mom's favorite shirt in the freezer," I say.
Marco thinks that I actually did that, and that, that was the prank. Its not, the prank is to see if my mom is secretly listening to Marco and I. I do this by seeing if once I tell Marco that I put her shirt in the freezer, if she would check the freezer to see if her shirt was really there.
She does, I tell her the test I came up with, she failed. It was hilarious, for me at least. It's really not funny if I think about it hard enough, I have a weird sense of humor. She's laughing, we all are. I don't know which one would be funnier, what I did, or actually putting it in the freezer. Neither are REALLY funny, but that's up for interpretation too. I guess a lot of things are.
It's things like that, that show me people are just so different. If there are infinite ways to look at something, then what is happiness. It's everything. All I know is that without sadness there is no happiness. Even if there was to be 'happy' it wouldn't be all that great, because without someone knowing sadness and desperation that person would think that happiness is normal, or regular. It is, but it's not, it's special even though it can be found in everything.
What I mean is they wouldn't appreciate the good times if they didn't have any bad times to compare it to. I can tell you that happiness is living in the moment, happiness is that instant when a grin widens upon your face, and you can't stop it from happening. Happiness is knowing that love is alive and always surrounding us. Happiness is life. What kind of a world would it be if our Almighty and ever loving Lord didn't give us happiness. Happiness is light, the light that shines within us, the light that is reflected on to those around us. Surrounded by happiness I become happy. Surrounded by sadness I pray to God for light to be shed on me and and the entire world. Happiness is complex when you're trying to define it but it's so simply experienced. The good things in life are simple and free, and that, without a doubt is what happiness is, at least to me. Woah, I did a little rhyming there. Dang I could literally publish that poem type thing, (if I wanted to).
I was really, really happy when Marco asked me if I wanted to go out on a date. It made me feel special. I know I will never stop being special though. I am different from every single other person and organism in this universe, and that's a fact.
I'm one-of-a-kind, made in God's image. I'm perfect because Jesus Christ is a part of me. He's inside my soul. Always guiding me, always there. Always.