Happiness

 High five


A look of astonishment. Followed by pure unadulterated joy.

'You said you worked in Colorado and now you live here?' 'That's enough, stop hurting your brother!' 'One spaceship, two, how many rounds was that?' ... 'French mutterings...' 'Are you comfortable?'

The flurry of parental activity felt... parental as the kids waited impatiently for the roundabout to take off. They were each sitting in their chosen shuttle of choice, two of them even squeezed in tightly with each other, staring at the wheel, wondering what they could do with it. One girl was messing around with the controls on hers, and looked around for approval. Another girl grinned back at her. The kids looked almost uncomfortable, waiting for a promised joyride. How fast can this thing go? One little dude was rocking his shuttle impatiently.

Slowly, the roundabout cranked to a start. One dude had a look that said 'I expected more'. Another had a bored look that said 'I'm still waiting to be blown away'. The Indian boy looked extremely uncomfortable in his seat next to the girl. Another was hanging tight to the wheel in utter concentration. One shuttle began rising, and the boy with the curls put his hands out to feel the air. How reminiscent - I used to love feeling the air go by as a kid in cars - until my parents yelled at me to pull back, lest I lost my hands to a careless motorcyclist. This was a roundabout, though, and this boy had no motorcyclists to worry about. Or yelling parents.

And then his father reached out to slap his hand.

I was downstream of the roundabout, so I saw the boy looking over his shoulders in pure surprise, and then looking forward into the turn with a priceless look on his face. Golfers nailing a hole-in-one had a lesser emotion that this boy. F1 drivers scoring the first place could only dream of making this face. Astronauts taking off for the first time might have made that face, but also the Gs might have made them look constipated. The boy with the curls stretched his jawline downwards and backwards, and raised his face. He was feeling the turn. He was eating it up. He was one with the shuttle, the air and his imagination.

Oops!

He looked back; his father had reached out for a slap, but missed the timing. The father motioned that they would do another in the coming round. The boy spent the round anticipating the five.

And again!

The joy was back on the boy's face as he flew forward, having connected his palm with his father's in the most satisfactory manner.

Even the game master reached out for the boy's hand on the last round.

On the way back through Pont Neuf, an arc in the sky, what's it called? Ah! An arc-en-ciel.

In the night, a jazz club with Christine. The bassist strumming his base with a silly smile on his face. As though nothing else in the world mattered except for that jam. It might as well have been. Oh! How it reminded me of Arkah's face.

I miss you dude.

Published on
9/30/19 2:37 AM


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