04.03.02/2
This may take a while
It was just me in the laundry room, alone with one other man. I see him around, always smile inside at his beard, his worn shirts, the love in his eyes when he has his children in his arms. He stood behind me, we both folded clothes in silence, listening to the steady rhythm of the dryers turning clothes.
It comforted me to think of his two little babies, warm, asleep upstairs somewhere. To think that they have a dad who's so in love with them. To think of soft, fuzzy sleepers, wrapped around their fat arms and legs, blankets tucked around them, unaware of anything besides their security tonight.
I liked that maybe the most about being a child. The security. The moments spent at the end of the day, kneeled at the side of my bed with one of my parents, "Now I lay me down to sleep. . ."
I liked somehow managing to fit my brothers and I, along with my father, on a twin-sized bed, just so we could listen to the stories he used to tell us. I liked the feeling of the dirt washing off my skin as I sat in the bath-tub, looking like a little Indian child, my skin so dark from the summer sun.
I liked sleeping, cool sheets against my skin. Waking to the sun long before it was time to get up. I liked being a child.
My period was two days late this month, it gave me a little scare. It made me wonder what I would do, how it would change my life. Change the dynamics of everything.
I spent most of the day in silence, today. Didn't speak much, didn't have a lot to say. I like days like those, when I almost forget the sound of my own voice. The less I talk, the more I can watch other people. And I like watching other people. Sometimes, when I realize how little I've spoken in a day, it makes me want to see how much longer I can go.
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