I’m sitting on the floor in my mom’s house among a pile of toys. I have a pink plastic curling iron clipped to my hair and a too-small yellow construction hat balanced on my head. And there’s Dahlia, stuffing a miniature plastic bed into her sequined black purse.
I’m squatting in the sun in my mom’s backyard, baby nephew Aiden in my left arm, the both of us watching as Dahlia scribbles our bodiless images onto the concrete path with a nubbin of chalk. With a quick flourish she slashes a few lines across our images, making us “fly,” as I wipe the decending drool from Aiden’s chin before it dribbles onto my shoulder.
I’m jumping around like a mad-woman popping bubbles as Dahlia and Brian wave plastic bubble wands through the air, then dip in the soapy water, then wave and dip again. I jump and lunge and pop.
I run back and forth on the back path, arms out at my side, tilting to and fro as I follow Dahlia, flying to Holland to visit Ohma and Ohpa. We run back and forth and back again (it’s a long flight), all the while making engine noises. Then we fly again, this time searching for Aunt Ali in her black car. Ah, there she is, a black ant crawling on the ground far below! We’re up so high!
I’m snapping pictures as my 3-year old niece opens her birthday presents excitedly. A stuffed puppy, a movie, some games, foam blocks, plastic binoculars. She loves the binocs, peering through them at us, yelling “Hi! Hi! I see you! Hi!” And we watch and laugh and eat and play and enjoy the sun and the company.
A nice party. A great day.
