I’m in the bath, watching a candle as it casts shadows on the wall. I am transported to a distant future after seeing the green blinking light from my Sonicare. One where the demands and stress in my life are minimal, and I am old. Like, maybe 70.
It felt friendly and gentle. The demands on me are long gone, and all I am is simply sitting here in a low-lit room.
I remember feeling like an intrusion in my mom’s life at times. I learned to tread lightly, tiptoe in her presence, and touch her gently. “Mom,” I’d whisper, unsure how she’d react and often startled when she said, “What?”
I don’t want to do that to Evelyn.
I’m not ok with how magnified the wrongs of others or myself become in my mind’s eye. Or how I fixate on one thing until reality is skewed.
My grandparents had a large wall poster of a magic eye. I loved laying on their bed, squinting one or both eyes, and changing my focus to bring the deer in the woods into view.
I am trying to figure out what I’m talking about tonight. None of it makes sense. Maybe someday it will.