I’m so glad you like the dolls I got for you.
I had to search all over town to find the one with blue skin.
“Here you go,” I said when I handed her to you. “Bizaabgotojo.”
“Bizaabgotojo,” you said. “Oooh, squeegeee.”
I played with the brown-skinned doll.
It was fun listening to you humming. Your little song told the story of a day–all the moods of waking and cooking and cleaning and playing.
Your song stopped and you turned to me.
“Bizaabgotojo?” you said, handing me the blue-skinned doll.
You looked at the brown-skinned doll in my other hand and smiled. I gave it to you.
“Sebastion!” you said. You said my name. And you snuggled the brown-skinned doll close to you, laughing like a tiny cave river, sparkling in the moonlight.
“Sebation ista moostomi bizaabgotojo,” you said. And you smiled and I felt something split wide open inside me. And I don’t think I will ever be the same again.