Life’s been going pretty well for us, if I do say so myself.
We’ve both declared faux BLT to be our ultimate favorite of all time.
“How’s the sandwich, kid?” I ask when we settle down for supper.
“You really like it?”
You always make sure I get plenty of practice with language learning, since you know I’m not as gifted that way as you are.
It’s hard to speak your language when I’m eating, since I’ve got to do that falsetto, gargly kind of thing. But I finish my bite and ask again.
“Bizaabgotojo costimotoki-yatopiko bizoopagoto, o si tapi?”
“O si tapi. Sebastiondon’tforgethowyousupposedrespond,OK?”
“Ok,” I say. “Oh, squeegee!” Squeegee is my favorite word, denoting thanks in specific, gratitude in general, and all manner of benevolence and trust in the goodness of life.
I often see you, standing on the porch at night, looking out. Usually, when you come in, you seem peaceful and content. So I haven’t been worrying.
So much goes on inside your head–you have so many things to think about. I remember what it’s like to have questions and feelings that surpass the capacity of any words in any language, so I always like to give you space for your silences.
We still do the waiting dance.
You’ve been asking to learn to read, so I’ve pulled out my pack of flashcards from my ECE days.
You’re picking up words well.
“Kitty!” That’s an easy one, of course.
The other night, we were doing great. You rattling off word after word.
Then you stopped, all of a sudden, and looked at me with your heart-breaking loneliness.
Oh, baby. Is that why you wanted to read? Because you thought once you knew how, the letters would come?
We’ve got to wait, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll send out more tomorrow.