Saturday, May 10, 2014

Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground

“Wait for me” I yelled falling further behind.  She stopped and turned back to me, her strawberry blonde hair catching in the sun.  I stopped suddenly, someone walking by bumped into me.  Sometimes with the light behind her she looked very beautiful, like a movie star.  I stopped and stared hard at her face.
“What are you looking at, silly Goose?” she asked holding out her hand to me.
“When I grow up I want to look just like you.” I say running to catch up and grabbing her hand.  She dropped down to her knees, letting go of the blanket she was carrying, so she was looking right into my eyes and she put one hand one on either side of my face.  She touched her nose to mine and scrunched it up.  She seemed not to be bothered by the sea of people around us.
“When I grow up, I want to look just like you, now let’s go, Goose, we are running out of time.”
I ran a little to keep up with her.  The crowd was getting thick, she wove in and out of people and I grabbed on to the back of her shirt, I was afraid to lose her.
“How about here?” she asked putting down the blanket. I looked around us and down the hill.
“Will we be able to hear?” I asked her worried, I didn’t want to miss it, not any of it.
She laughed.
“I promise we will be able to hear every word.”
“Will he sing it?” I asked.
“Oh, he will definitely sing it.” She said sitting down cross legged in the middle of the blanket.  She patted the spot next to her and I folded myself into her side, she put her arm around me.
“Will he sing it first?” I persisted.  Her mouth turned up like she was going to smile but when she looked at my face I saw her take it back.
“He won’t sing it first, he always starts with the same song.  But, Goose,  I promise he will sing it.” When she said it she squeezed my hand, that’s one of the ways I know when she really meant it.
“What will he sing first?” I ask her relaxing into her shoulder.
“Whiskey River.  He always starts with Whiskey River.  Goose?” she looked right into me raising an eyebrow, “Why do you love that song so much?”
“Because it breaks my heart, Mom.”

“Mine too, Goose.”


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