Covering every little spot with pink. There’s noise buzzing beside my head… loud, annoying. I hold my marker tighter. Lean closer, closer, closer. My nose is filled with the sting of ink.
Out of nowhere, a hot weight on my back. The buzzing is Louder than ever…
I look up into my Mom’s eyes, wanting to show her my picture. It’s almost done. Looking back I see a stripe of white along the edge. Not right. Not right at all. Needs more pink.
HEY! Where’s my marker?
Her face is right next to mine. Her mad face. Buzzing again. With a pink marker in her hand. MY pink marker. MINE.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mad. This is my mad face.
The world moves under me… my chair pulled away from the table. Away from my paper. Away from the white spots I haven’t finished. Not right. Not right at all.
I reach for it.
There she is again. “It’s. TIME. to. go.”
I’m catapulted onto my feet, a big, warm hand wrapped around mine.
We’re going somewhere?
Why didn’t anyone tell me?
So here’s us, where life moves too fast and the girl just won’t be rushed.
For those who are new to the blog, our 9-year-old is navigating Down Syndrome, a hint of OCD and, being-her-mother’s-daughter. She’s joy and charm and mischievous giggles. She’s also the reason we’re almost always late.
This is my entry for the
Wordpress Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door
“consider things from a different point of view…
walk a mile in someone [else]’s shoes.”