89. c u

You’re flying tomorrow and will be arriving at my place late in the evening. All will be ready, a snack, one of your favorite movies loaded in the DVD player, your toy box, your beds. I will have removed and hidden what’s dangerous, my scissors, the glue and chemicals I use for my collages, glass objects you could reach.

I’ve applied for a few days leave from work so to spend time with you. We’ll paint, draw, play. I’ll take you out for lunch. But the most important thing we’ll do is talk. I’ll listen carefully to your voices. You’ll tell me about kindergarten, friends, where you’ve been, what you’ve done, perhaps adventures involving the dogs or cats in your neighborhood. Your rollerblade escapades. Family outings. A new song you’ve learned. Tripping over your words as you’ll be so impetuous, so many things to say all at once, borrowing from three languages to make ideas sharp and complete, syllables thrown high in the air like star dust suddenly flowing against the night. You’ll want me to know everything in one shot. You’ll forget to breathe. And then you’ll put your arms around me and hold me tight, whispering into my ear how happy you are to be at my place. Yes, you do that.

I’ll marvel about how fast you grow, how in only a few weeks you’ve changed. Your vocabulary exploding along different routes, your expressions more precise, your sentences versatile and animated. Your stories filled with transitions and pauses, more details. Degrees introduced. I’ll be listening with my skin, my eyes, my smile. Admiring your pride. The diamond light on your face, your giggling overtones when you speak and I understand.

We’ll chat and chat. Partaking in energetic conversations. Your sense of humor peppering the gossip.

And I’ll trace in my mind all the furrows we need to record your voices. In French, for it is in that language that our love is the deepest. In Mandarin, because we’re having so much fun. And in English, since once in a while we should also include others.

Laolao