Sunday, April 24, 2011

My Little Golden Bell (For Cookie)

What was once silver, turned brown somehow, sometime back long ago, amber, blonde, platinum with streaks, pieces of white, then turned purple if you looked close enough, sometimes silky black, then chestnut brown, depending on the light. Looks perfect with the curl, wavy elegance, I think, long, lacy sleeves on that blouse you wear, floral skirt, and I always think, Lady—with a capital L. Do you see what I see?

Fair, like alabaster, white marble, the milk you drink so much, only smoother, with a pink blush, something you probably have to touch to believe, make real. Know what I mean? Probably not. Makes me wish I could touch it freely, run my finger down the length of your pretty white cheek and tell you, “This is only one of the things that makes you beautiful to me, that stirs my blood.” The rest…well…I’ll try to get there eventually. This is just the beginning.

Sometimes, too, like a porcelain doll, healthy and flawless, skin that can’t be real and you wonder how such a pretty girl had that miasma of personality that shot through the roof. Gonna meet a superstar someday, make the devil blush. What a lucky bastard someone’s gonna be. Brings a tear to my eyes, sometimes more than one. It often does.

Don’t be afraid to cry. I see sometimes the hurt you go through (It’s hard not to with those puffy red eyes.), knowing there’s nothing I can do, but let you let it run its course. No hug will do, not for this girl. She needs something more, a magic word, fairy dust, to make her feel better, a carpet ride or something. Did I tell you you look like a princess today?

I wish I could be younger sometimes with a chance out there, or you could be a little bit older, and we could run, and laugh, hold hands, and play like two little kids always getting into mischief. Turn the kitchen into a den of flour from floor to ceiling. You got it all over your face. Smear the chocolate syrup in your hair and think about the beating our parents are going to give us for what we did to the kitchen and not care at all. Open every single cookie jar. For some reason, there are a million, make sure that loud laughter of yours continues to ring and ring and ring. Change your name and call you My Little Golden Bell, tinkle like a snow chime, watch the lights at Christmas time, open up a jar of honey and say, “I made this special for you with all the bees’ cooperation. You should have seen the looks on their faces. Bees smile. Bet you never knew that, did you?” Take you back to a land of lost chivalry, let you ride upon a handsome steed, because I always have to throw in some romantic fantasy to make it complete. All the townsfolk are throwing flowers at you. See, the blush in your cheeks.

Carry you up to your tower at night, put you to sleep, and stand guard by the window, watching the stars come out, making sure all is safe, no monsters, no dragons, no villainous creeps, nothing to harm you, watching you sleep, peaceful little princess girl with all that drool on your pillow just makes you look that much prettier to me.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

A Honeymoon in Outer Space

I can be a killer, too, as I watch it progress into outer space. I took your hand and told you not to be afraid. You don’t have to worry about breathing here. You trusted me. That was a good thing. This was just the beginning of the adventure. We would see things through and through like magic. Take this bus ride all the way home. Paint it pink and send it off like a sling-shot into outer space.

I saw, at least briefly, the way it was supposed to work between us. Some caricature of me I had a dream about one day like a flashy, bold cartoon. I imagined Thor, because he was the only super-hero with hair like mine. That wasn’t conceit, just a way to build my self-esteem. I would’ve mentioned the Silver Surfer, but he doesn’t have any hair at all, despite traveling at the speed of light through space, which I like. But I’m getting off the subject.

You were my courageous little princess. The funny thing about you was I just needed that smile. You gave it to me many times with those big brown eyes of yours, so that was all the strength I needed. You were my little hammer, like Thor. I was strong, plenty strong, I thought, but not nearly as strong until I could hold you in my hand. So, that made me want to be your provider and protector, a champion, here like every little myth and archetype history created for man and woman to be. We had a step above them, though, because we had our own definitions of each that we were living up to. That was the key. I had armor made from steel and sun beams. Still, I couldn’t do it without you.

“There,” I said, pointing to the night sky. “Look.”

You followed my gaze while my cape billowed behind me. You put your hand to my shoulder, and we watched as every star imaginable shot across the sky.

“That,” you said, “is a lot of wishes.”

“Aye,” I said, nodding.

These rivets were just the shirt I was wearing. I didn’t need armor at all. We can confuse ourselves into thinking the silliest things. So, I told you to hop on the back of this dragon. I was never meant to kill such a big, cuddly thing. We could train him, make him a household pet.

“Good,” you said. “What shall we name him?”

“Leprechaun,” the dragon said, and winked at us. All three of us started laughing.

“Hop on,” he said. “I’ll take you for a ride.”

“How’s that for agreeable?” I asked.

“Pretty cool,” you said, then asked Leprechaun, “Where are you taking us?”

“Past the sun and three times around the moon. I want to show you the rings of Saturn, too. And Uranus has these huge ice cliffs. I thought we could have a barbecue and watch Neptune rise in the sky. It’s pretty far-out.”

“I think this dragon is tipsy,” I said.

“Never been more sober in my life,” he said.

“In that case, lead on Leprechaun.”

He nodded and took to the sky.

“This is gonna be one hell of a honeymoon,” you said.

“But I haven’t asked you to marry me yet.”

“Well, what a better time to propose, on the back of a dragon, soaring into outer space. What girl gets to say that?”

“She’s got you there, champ,” Leprechaun said.

“We’ll have to stop at the store first and pick you out an engagement ring.”

“Can we try that pizza place on the mall first?”

“Of course. What do you say, Leprechaun? You hungry?”

“I love pizza!”

And that’s how I imagined our fairy-tale to be.