Just a grass blade

I love watching you in the grass. Our Texas lawn is overgrown by the not so cold December sky. You sit at the edge of our concrete slab that some may call a patio. You lean over and touch the grass. You wave your hand letting the grass tickle you and slip between your fingers. You look back at me smiling a toothy grin. Your eyes are so blue in this green backdrop. Your face is a mix of wonder and pride. You are in awe. You finally rip a blade of grass at the seam. You toddle over and say “here” while placing it into my open palm. I love you in this moment. My mind is already freezing time and putting this into the file cabinet of my mind so I can pull it out in the future. It’s almost like I’m not here at all. I’m already in the memory. Buried even further back in my mind is another girl, on another lawn, holding another blade of grass ripped at the seam. Right now you’re living a moment I’ve already lived. 

It’s a memory I wrote about once for a story. My teacher told me I was too close to it and needed perspective. She told me to write about something else. So I put that girl from the memory on the shelf with your grandmother’s china. Watching you it’s like having all the china fall on my lap. I’m back in that memory only I’m playing a different role. Just like that I have perspective. 

I wish I could reach out and pull you into my memory so you could see we’re not so different after all.