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the list

It was a simple request, but it took me months to solve it. Soon we will have guests in the house for V's birthday, and the cascading piles of notes and camera parts, the lopsided villages of books, the forgotten bowls of loose change - they all had to find homes. I even bought a collection of clear, stackable boxes just after Christmas, but they sat like empty open mouths gathering bits of fluff and dust in them until today. With little flakes of fresh snow dancing against the windows, I began at one end of the room.

The problem with cleaning is that you constantly find lost treasures, windows into your past lives. Here, a set of notes from a film I was writing some seven years ago. Here, the warranty for a watch I bought for N (that I still need to register). And next, a Soviet ruble that I bought in Tbilisi at the dry bridge market, the location of the lost wonders of the world. Next to a broken saxophone and an old rug, I remember noticing a handful of old coins that I bought…

the last day

The guitar recital was Monday. On Tuesday there was the English party, with a stage full of nine year olds shouting B-I-N-G-O at the top of their lungs. There were metallic balloons shaped like crescent moons tacked to the back wall. I made faces at E, trying to get her to screw up but it only made her smile. 

On Wednesday, they will take an excursion to a science museum with the promise of rotary telephones and cosmonaut suits. E does not need to wear her white shirt and dark blue skirt, and suddenly her personality is flying around in a t-shirt decorated with sardines and some striped leggings, purple sneakers with leopard spots on them and her silver leather jacket. Halfway outside she frowns for a moment.
"I forgot to put on perfume." She tells me.

We walk to school, the street full of men in short-sleeved shirts, women in gauzy dresses, old women in sagging knee stockings, soldiers, cleaning men in orange jumpsuits. 
"The best day of school." She announces. "Is the last day of school."

At the traffic light I look down at her.
"But we made a list." I tell her. "Of all of the stuff we are going to do this summer."
She nods.
"And now you have to make one too." She adds. "Like to finish your book."

She sends me text messages once she is inside. 

     We r having breakfast.
     The bus is green
     it cost 50 
     it has not started yet
     no it cost 250
     there was no phone like they said
     taking pictures

I work in silence, the drapes moving slowly. Tomorrow at this time she will be here. The work unfolds.

She calls. They are on their way back. 

I wait downstairs. 

She drags her gym clothing bag behind her. There are kind words with her teacher. Faces nodding, smiles plastered across all of them, the smell of the guard at the desk behind us like he has not washed since New Years Day. I slap the front doors open and we are outside. E throws her head back, letting out a great sigh. 

"I can't believe I made it." She cries out. "No more second grade!"

Children twist their heads, trying to understand what she has said.


liv said…
She is really (as opposed to - I some how thought she would always be tiny) growing up.

The perfume, the last day of second grade, so girl - so bright.

And that face ! Filling out and becoming. Now, instead of just seeing you, she is actually looking back at you. More present in herself. Couldn't be more beautiful xo

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