What captivates my attention the most is the color. Glistening red so brilliant it couldn’t be real. Bright, popping crimson that makes your eyes hurt it’s so lovely. The room around me dances with color and noise.
“I love you so much, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” daddy says to mommy.
Mommy looks into his eyes, her own glistening with tears. “I know,” she says quietly.
I wonder if all parents care for each other so passionately.
They swing around the room in an intricately choreographed routine that I’ve seen dozens of times. It never fails to astound me. Daddy ads a new element as they come around the coffee table and mommy spins twice. I watch her golden hair twirl around her head like a halo. Her skirt billows out around her as she floats to the floor. I stare as the thin fabric nestles down around her in slow motion.
Daddy scoops her up and settles her against the wall to keep her from tumbling down again.
“How do you do this to me? You make me feel this way and I can’t stop it,” he says to her.
“Please,” she whispers back.
I get consumed again with the glistening red while they talk. Daddy kisses mommy so hard it makes my cheeks warm.
The edges of the red are loosing their brilliance. It is starting to dry and turn brown and ugly. That means the end is coming. When the explosion of color and noise and bodies settles it isn’t pretty anymore, so I don’t like the end.
Daddy leaves, “I’m sorry. I can’t stand to see you like this. Get cleaned up.”
Mommy stays still as a statue, leaning against the wall. Her tears ruin everything; the glistening red on her face mingles with tears, and stains her shirt. She’s trembling now and trying to take deep breaths. Her puffy cheek hints at the pop of purple and blue that will color her face tomorrow.
“I love you baby. I’m sorry,” she says to me.
I don’t know why she apologizes.
It is over, so I return to my book. I wonder if when I’m grown I’ll get to feel the way mommy feels.
