Microcosms of You

Love in the Dark Windows

Voices crept to my room, past my door, curling in the darkness of the night. I pulled my sheets over my head, hoping to drown them out. My ears, my heart, my soul...it is like they are being split open, laid bare, and stitched back up again.

The windows to my room were shut, the darkness beyond in the form of slender leaves, lighted by the nearby lamppost. Leaves swayed with the wind, rustling, taking shapes of nightmares I am having when the noises beyond my room went louder.

I was not supposed to be like this. No.

I watched them when they first met. She was carrying me across her torso, straddling my rear with her arm. She was trying to choose which cereal to buy me while I mutely stared at the colorful labels and splashy illustrations. It was...a peaceful time in the supermarket.

Then I saw him. A tall man with kind eyes and strong arms. He was someone I want to be when I grow up. Someone reliable, gentle, and firm. He was picking his way past two grandmas and their carts, muttering his excuse mes and sorrys. It was a funny circumstance for me.

I remember laughing, the sound of it still fresh in my ears. It surprised her. It surprised him. It surprised the grandmas. I wish they were my grandmas. It has been a while since I last saw mine.

The laugh reverberated in the aisle, loud as it was. She giggled as she straddled me closer, pressing my head on her shoulder. I did not get to see him walk closer, having been cleared by the grandmas, and approach her.

He must have smiled. I felt my mother's cheeks at the back of my head. She was smiling. Perhaps, beautifully.

"It's not everyday a baby laughs at me like that," he said, his voice steady and unabashed.

She chuckled as she rocked me once, twice. My eyes drooped. Is it sleep time now? "He likes you, that's what," she replied.

Indeed, I do. He was kind. I want to be like him in the future.

He just laughed and helped her get my favorite cereal in the highest rack. She thanked him. He bought her coffee in a nearby shop. They parted ways.

They met again when I grew a little bit taller, a little bit bigger. She stopped carrying me. Told me I was big enough to not get mauled by speeding bikes.

But she still held my hand. I like the feel of it. It makes me feel safe. Secured. Nothing could harm me if I hold her hand. So I keep holding on.

I keep holding on.

I remember tearing through the ice cream she bought me when a shadow fell upon the bench we have been sitting on. The sun was scorching, that day. But I was grateful he blocked it for us.

He called her name. She called his. They laughed. The sun is bright, the grass is green. Kids my age ran and and played with each other. I never bothered. I have her with me. It is going to be alright. Everything is alright.

She scooted me sideways to give room for him. I do not mind. It was him. He would never be a bother. They started talking. It was too fast for me to understand. It was all too fast.

Some of the ice cream dribbled down my hands, my clothes. She never noticed. She was focused on him. So focused, that I need to cry before she saw that my ice cream had fallen out of its cone and plopped into the ground, sizzling underneath the glaring sun.

She smiled but her eyes say that she is disappointed. She wanted to keep talking to him but my ice cream got in the way. She needed to clean me up.

So I did her a favor. I clung to him. He was surprised. She was abashed.

We ended up taking him back to the house, giving him a drink, talking to him more. She was happy, I can tell. She was happy that he came.