Two Hairs Fight

Mary makes a cherry pie.
She says, "It may the best one I have ever made.
I test it out when it is still warm.
Now I am thinking, 
why didn't I drizzle some cream over it?
That would be whipping cream.

This morning Michael came to my room with a marble rolling around in the palm of his hand, telling me he could get the sun to reflect through it and make a warm place next to it.

I told him that my dad used to do something similar with rays of light.

Doral would take his magnifying glass, and if he and I were outside chatting on a bench, he would let the sun focus through the magnifying glass onto my leg.

That spot would get warm and I would try to flick something off of where I was feeling that warmth.

I would notice the heat, but not the magnifying glass, and I would brush my hand against that spot, absently trying to  a get a fly off.

Doral would continue the conversation with me, still focusing the magnifying spot on my leg, maybe in the same spot, maybe in a different spot.

Finding a cherry pit and a cherry stem
in the pie proves it was made from real cherries.
I am the one who gets the pit.
What a pleasure!  Real cherries.

Again, I would notice an irritation and rub it with one of my hands. Maybe really rub.

The third time I felt that burning spot I would stop, rub the spot some more and look at it, inquisitively.

He would belly laugh and show me what he had been doing.

I might ask to hold the magnifying glass to try to gather the sun’s rays myself.

He would let me use it.

Then he would slowly slip the leather case of the magnifying glass back around it and put it into his pocket.

Oh, I keep the memory of those moments with little magnifying glass (and the memory of moments with his jack-knife) in the same space in my brain.

But to return to my initial story, Michael and I went over to my “treasures-of-all-kinds” drawer to see if there was a magnifying glass there. I know I have more than one toy surprise in there.

Three magnnifying glasses, that is the number I have.

I just don’t know where they are.

 I don’t find one in my bedroom drawer though other treasures that Michael is interested in emerge. But I wanted to continue the story of my search for a magnifying glass so I can teach Michael my dad’s old trick. I tell Michael we will have to ask permission from his mother to practise our magnifying glass trick.

She said no practise for us.

Someone else adds a scoop of ice cream to their pie.
The pie was made for Leo's birthday.
Betty is disappointed.
"Why doesn't Leo want a birthday cake?" she asks.

Not until he is 16 and ready to defend himself either by running or by standing and out-facing someone he might might do the trick to.

Too much impulsivity in that little 8 year old self, and not enough social judgement yet, she thought.

Yes.

That trick requires a steady hand and a subject that will find the trick fun. So I told Michael I would teach him how to do another trick that my dad taught me, and he could hold the first one in his mind until he is 16.

He asks me what if he forgets. I tell him not to worry, I will remind him.

Moving on to my second choice of pranks, I turn to  Michael asking if he has ever seen two hairs make love. He asks what that is. I say, well, you know, about how two humans make a child, well, I can show you how two hairs do that.

He just gives me a long sustained frozen stare, as though he does knows something, but that it is incomprehensible and that the next words on this subject will not be spoken by him.

I say to him, well, it looks like we shouldn’t talk about love until you have more interest in sex, which will be in your teen years. Right now I can teach you how two hair fight with no trouble.

 Michael still looks at me as though I am a little crazy, but he follows me around while I go get an aluminum pie plate and put 1/8 of a cup of water in it.

Micael and I got close to see the fight.
Here is is dropping one hair on top of another.
I am poised ready for the next step.

After we are finished, I coach him on how to
show this trick to Alice.

He is following me because none of the teens are up yet, and I am his only choice for social interaction.

“Let’s get the two hairs in the sun so they can have a really good fight”, I say, going to the porch, him following me.

He has asked for one of Rebecca’s hairs and she takes one out of her hair brush for him. By the time he gets to the porch he has lost her hair so I tell him to take one of his.

He puts his hand on his head, getting more than one, and trying to narrow those down to which one, if just one.

He pulls something out. “Ouch, that hurt”, he says.

I tell him, “Well, it is just one hair you have lost and this is an important science experiment we are doing.

I take one of my hairs out, a long silver strand that glistens in the sun. I admire its gentle curl and long length.

I give it to him to put in the plate, but he doesn’t want to touch it.

I tell him, “Be fearless. Take it. Put it aside yours.”

Finally, he does. By this time, I am on my knees, telling him to get down close so he doesn’t miss the fight. He gets very close.

I take my hand, spread my fingers wide and bring them down with force on the pie plate, splattering water everywhere.

Michael won’t know what a feat it is for me to take five arthritic fingers, straighten them, and bring them down flat on the pie plate so as to make a fine mist of water rise everywhere.

I made the sacrifice to get down on my knees
so that I could show Michael how to to this trick.
But now I can't get up without asking for someone
to bring me a chair or their arm.

I open my eyes.

Fine specks of water are all over my glasses.

Through them I look at Michael.

He has felt the fine spray of water on his face and arms. He jumps up with peals of laughter.

He laughs and spins himself around. I am laughing too, so glad that he has taken this so well, seeing the sense of humour in it.

I think to myself, there are going to be good days ahead with this kid.

Arta