Okay, the side of me that's interested in narrative does not want to take a vacation yet, I guess, because I just remembered that when I was a little kid and I visited the shall I say not so friendly mom babysitter (poor woman, she needed to just take care of her son and not all of those other people's kids) I realized that I'm pretty sure her son's name was Steven. Was he The Little Prince of the household? Yes, he certainly was! He wasn't really my friend. Well he was too little, for one thing. The brown kid who the babysitter seemed to like the least of all was the most my friend. He loved me the most. I associate him with caring and embarrassment and a hot flush coming to my face. Because when I got off the school bus and he called out for me and I tried to run to him, the babysitter yelled at him and it was super mean and I felt so much empathy and love and shame and my face got very hot. Maybe I'll go under hypnosis one day and remember his name. But the universe has allowed me to remember that Steven was like the little prince of that domain. Isn't it funny?
No comments:
Post a Comment