I’m getting dressed!” when she hears my footsteps near her door, doesn’t notice my hands are against a part of her body she tries so hard to keep private. I nuzzle the top of her head and give my little girl a squeeze. I wish I could remember what it was like to be a tween. (When I was growing up, that word didn’t even exist.) If I did, I could better relate to the mood swings. Back — she slams her door. And forth — she blows me a kiss. Instead, it can seem as if I’m lost on an empty playground. The swings she used to ride are still moving, but she’s long gone, and I realize it’s only the wind. We feed the ducks on the Erie Canal while nibbling
on chocolate biscotti and remembering the time the pigeons ate out of her hand. I shiver in my cardigan; Annalie moves comfortably in a sleeveless dress. I no longer need to remind her to stand back from the water’s edge. When we have run out of corn kernels, still hungry ourselves, we stop at Trader Joe’s. Annalie dashes to the back of the store for free samples of coleslaw and tea while I replenish our favorites: bananas, goat cheese, frozen chana masala. We meet up by the register, where she talks me into buying a tin of green tea mints, then sleepily leans her head against my shoulder.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” she says. The cashier scans a box of butternut squash soup. I pull my daughter tight, wishing I had more items in my cart. I whisper into her hair: “You can stay here as long as you want.” This personal essay by Rochester-based writer Robin Flanigan was first published in Motherwell digital magazine on March 20, 2017.
She Rocs magazine is collaborating with Writers & Books to share a short story or essay in every issue, written by students or instructors. Writers & Books is a nonprofit literary center based in Rochester that fosters and promotes reading and writing as lifelong activities. The programs are numerous and varied, reaching more than 25,000 people per year. Learn more at wab.org.