A Dinner Date with the Universe
Pervasive. He used that word when we went out for dinner. A piece of me
sitting across the table. He has his birth father’s eyes and my colouring,
but he has my aunt and uncle’s sense of the world.
We order the same thing – mirroring each other. We discuss with the same
dissecting analysis: the food, Star Wars, and words like pervasive.
It’s his birthday, but I’m celebrating – internally, the arrival of this awaited
moment. To be with him the way I was when he was three days old, and
I clung to him knowing it might be eighteen years before I regained the right
to adore him again.
I will float on this memory for weeks. Let the heavy ones drop to the bottom
of my coat pocket with the unwrapped lozenge and crumpled fortune,
saying, “you are equally as beautiful as the Universe.”
© Marsha Masseau