Monday, July 4, 2011

Day 273: Hard to imagine.

On my way home tonight, I walked past a boy.
He was about seven years old, I would say.
I surveyed as he was watched his mom carry his tiny bicycle down a long flight of stairs.
He moved his hands in a circular motion towards his body as if to say, ‘Come, come’.
At the same time he peeked side to side and made funny beeping noises with his mouth.
When she was about midway he shouted, “Whoa! Easy now! Careful!”
The mom laughed and brought the bike over to him.
He looked up at her and with a big grin announced, “Mom, I was pretending that it was a construction site and you were a giant forklift crane carrying my bike. And I was in charge!”
She looked at me with a face that said ‘Oy, kids!’
He paid no attention to either of us, got on his bike and started down the street humming a tune.
I smiled at her and kept walking.
Kids are so lucky.
Their eyes always see more than what is before them.
And they don’t know that this natural creative ability will play hide and seek with them as they get older.
Here I am, every day, trying to convince myself that I am a writer.
But where the hell has my imagination disappeared to?
Why don’t I pretend anymore?
Why don’t I see more than what’s in front of me?
Where is my little girl self?
What would she see?
What would her story be?
Think, Tanya. 

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