Ordinary Eyes

Rachel C.

I do not know who I am, my age, my gender, any thing of that nature. I do not know where to go, where I am, where I’ve been. There is only one thing I know for certain, and that is the place I call home. Home is not found in the castles of kings, the oceans of pirates or the dungeons of prisoners; those are just places we visit. Home is, was and will always be in the heart of a very special little girl.

When did God first create life? Was it God? Was it the Big Bang? Religion? Science? Does anyone really know? That is what I do know. The day Addy was brought home, her rosy cheeks kissed my fingertips, breathing life into my very soul. There is nothing before Addy. No big explosion, no Adam, no Eve, no memories, no life. Asking me to remember such a time is like asking a baby to remember its first breath. Such a moment does not exist in the mind of a child, only in the mind of the parent. Addy’s parents remember for her, just as Addy remembers for me.

“Honey, look at Addy!”

They thought this was her first word, her first laugh, her first cry. They had missed her firsts, the ones in the playpen, the ones late at night, when they were fast asleep. That’s the thing about parents, they think they define attentiveness. They think they see everything; only I see everything. I watch her in the night, I sleep by her side, and I sweeten her dreams. Addy wants me there, as her friend and as her witness. Her first step is really her fourth; her first word is really her tenth. Parents pretend to capture every moment. They alter memories, pretending they are entirely true. Addy’s parents pretend. Addy, pretends too.

* * *

“What should we be today?”

To the ordinary eye, Addy’s bedroom is a sea of pink. Pink frills frame her window, pink sheets comfort her bed, and a pink door is the entrance to it all. Luckily for Addy and me, our eyes are not ordinary. Yesterday, we opened the door to find a pirate ship sailing through the room. We hollered and leapt, and fought and conquered. I was nearly hit by a flying cannonball, but Addy saved me. The day before yesterday, we walked through the door onto a luminous stage. Dressed in our finest tutus, we danced past the heavily draped curtains, the gold encrusted pillars, past each other, skimming the floor, flying, soaring.

“I’ll be the princess; you can be my prince charming.”

I’m her prince charming. She loves me. No one else can see what’s behind the pink door. No one can see our adventures, our triumphs; no one can see me, except Addy. Only Addy knows what will be behind the door, who she will be, who I will be. I wonder who I will be tomorrow.

* * *

“Addy, you’re too old!”

Too old? They think she is too old for me. Outgrown me! How can you outgrow someone so dear to you? Addy and I don’t play anymore; we don’t have any new adventures. I still watch her in the night and sleep by her side, but I no longer sweeten her dreams. “Mommy! Something is under the bed!”

That is what I have become, a monster under the bed. The funny thing about monsters is no one else can see them. Addy wants me under the bed. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t be there. She is afraid of me but she can’t let go of me. I hope she never lets go of me.

* * *

Addy’s door has been ambushed by pictures, posters and magazine cut-outs. Addy’s life has been ambushed by the teenage years. I probably shouldn’t call her Addy anymore because no one else does. Addison makes me sit outside. I am not welcomed as I once was. Laughter and cursing invade my space outside the door. She does not hurt me intentionally but she is becoming detached. Parties and girlfriends have not replaced me, just concealed me. Addison is trying to figure out who she is. I wonder who I am.

* * *

Addison is all grown up. She has left the world of pirates and princes, childhood innocence and teenage narcissism. She has a little girl of her own now, a new home, a new family and a new life. I never see her anymore, she never sees me. No one can see me. I like to think she still remembers me, our adventures. I like to think our time together is not lost. I wonder if Addys’ eyes have become ordinary.

* * *

Now, I sit outside her door. I sit and remember. I know if I were to open the door, pink frills would no longer frame the window and pink sheets would no longer cover the bed. Once upon a time, when I lived in a pink kingdom, I would have found a very special little girl in that room, a little girl named Addy.