"Joy"

I am alone in the kitchen of our home. It’s time for dinner and my body aches. The late afternoon light pours into the living room just off the kitchen, washing the beige carpet with more interesting hues. I ignore the stains left behind by old dogs and long use. Keeping my focus on the present and the things I can change in this section of time.The counters are cluttered with condiments and knick knacks, little things to bring joy while being practical. I wonder if I’d be happier with a cleaner house, but the thought disappears before I latch onto it. My beautiful daughter is jumping on the couches in the living room. I can hear her laughing as her small body bounces rhythmically on old furniture. Everything we own is hand-me-down, except for the life we build ourselves. Her young feet tap their own history into the fabric, making their mark for a split second before it’s replaced once more. The couches are older than our marriage, our little family. They can do with an update. Music plays from my phone. A song comes on that we like. Any song, it doesn’t matter, and I call to her, “Nora, let’s dance!”

Sturdy steps bring her into the kitchen, our dance floor. She faces me from the line where the carpet turns into linoleum, long legs sticking out coltishly from frayed shorts, feet bare. She’s wearing a unicorn t-shirt. It’s her favorite. At five unicorns are all the rage. They’re magical horses, therefore sacred. I miss the stage where she was obsessed with narwhals, but it would be harder to find a collection of narwhal t-shirts in her size.  For a moment the ceiling light seems to be a spotlight, the heat from the stove disappears. Nora stands proudly, tangled blonde hair falling into her eyes. Excited, she tucks a lank behind her ear and rushes toward me.

Small hands reach for me and we twirl, her blonde hair falling from her shoulders like a cloud of purity. Her brown glasses slide down on her small nose. She pauses to push them up, undaunted, continuing to dance. There’s a grace in her spinning, for a while, until her feet stumble and she stops. Pulling a face, she jokes, “I’m okay.”

We are laughing, then, full of energy. I can feel my aches fall away, my stress, as the song plays on, transitions into another one. A dance break becomes a dance party. We are alive and silly. I sing off-key and she tries to mimic my movements, only to change her mind and create a dance all her own. This, when she stops trying to follow and pushes to lead, is when I feel full joy. Knowing that no matter how I’m idolized by my young girl that she’ll eventually and confidently make a life for herself. A reflection of her burgeoning independence. Her ever-growing sense of self.

In these moments, I know the future. I know love. I see my daughter growing before my eyes and i’m grateful beyond measure for the gift. The love, the joy of her. These dance sessions are my salvation. My love story. Without having to say a word, we share one another, build our relationship and forge a history. A lifetime of love.