In those afternoonish family slash friendly events like this birthday party, a two-hour long car drive to meet with the same usual foreigners I see every other year, so we can celebrate the passage of one more year in said person’s particular life, whoever he or she may be. The same year that passed us all by, but we don’t get to honor it, at least not today. In these occasions there’s a huge audience and amongst the noise I routinely seem to invariably find a kid that stands out, has a nice peculiar vibe, powerful enough to grab my attention.
Well, for me that notable infant is inevitably a girl, since you already know I’m the man who dreams of having daughters, so yeah, not very surprising. Oh, and usually a blondie with those pearly blue eyes, the ones who can captivate my heart so easily, like I don’t even own myself. Pardon me and my nordic preferences but I just can’t help it. I fall for them. And yes, yesterday I was lucky enough to find her, the one that presented herself in this exquisite way. These moments are such a joy to sense and live, looking at her and feeling funny, perhaps it’s some sort of paternal instinct starting to sprout in me. I know it is.
She looks at me like I’m supposed to know it all, asks me to pour her some Coca-Cola, for the bottle is too heavy for her tender arms. She approaches and it’s like you can feel it coming, and you’re just ready for it. But then her mannerism turns out to be even lovelier than expected, and she melts you. A case of cuteness overload.
Then, the confident posture she holds like I’m perceiving nothing at all. Something she surely masters, and she’ll gladly teach me. Things like the method for gas removal on gasified beverages, similar to the one I just served her. There she stands, so stylishly dressed in an Elsa’s from “Frozen” pink and blue bathing suit, slowly circling a teaspoon inside her glass, agitating the drink so that the bubbles, they volatilize, turning that Cola into a less aggressive refreshment, a sweet palatable amber tea, now unable to boil the insides of her mouth, fog her nose or even make her tear up a little. I watched closely and seriously nodded while gently smiling.
Or even how she played foosball, struggling to find balance, on top of an empty beer crate, for that’s the only way she could reach the rod handles. From up there she lectures me on how to best throw the ball into the table (and that must be done, obviously, how she does it). A warm swap of looks that somehow glaciates time, a moment of complicity that grows out of nowhere. A smiley face and a mutual silent giggle like we’re mocking someone who’s not even there. We laugh of each other’s happiness.
Me, I am happy as I see her so spirit free, so purely young and innocent. She simply smiles because she ignores sadness, it hasn’t arrived to her world yet. Kids, they can make you feel old through experiencing their youth, plainly. And I felt ultimately satisfied because her ignorance seduced me. It’s like I couldn’t think too hard on the contentment she was causing me or I’d eventually shed a teardrop or two. Because feeling this so missed joy again is painful; fully tasting it during this fast hours for I know, later on, there is no other choice but to embrace emptiness again. It’s a sense of completion, her unconsciousness ironed my soul so flat I could feel it slide out of me every time I would blink at her.
Imagining that little girl as if she was the fruit of me, that’s when I really understand the meaning of playing a special role in this vast sphere. In such an endless boundless planet, how can a single person, youthful, show you so much about yourself? This is a penetrating thought. You found your utility while pouring that Cola on that glass, and watching her glance towards you like you’re something special. Yet, she is the one who causes you to be whole without even having a clue of the effect her silently loud presence has on you. And this is one of the few occasions when I can say I truly smile, even during moments I’m led to believe that nothing would let me rejoice again.
It’s like she knows how vulnerable I am and promises to keep that our secret. She won’t say a thing, as long as I don’t lose myself in that hollow gaze I reveal sometimes. Keep it lively and she’ll light me up. I must fight to stop secluding my existence or she won’t make that merry effort for me.
The endless talks I can have with a tiny newcomer without sharing a single word. It’s strange to perceive that she probably isn’t feeling a thing while I’m so feeling it all. How I appear so powerless for knowing so much, for she rules me with her oblivion.
Me, taking the time to acknowledge the immenseness in her eyes, it’s been one of the only things worth living for, lately.