Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Gelukkige Dag

Most mornings, Iris' body gets up long before she does. It wanders slowly around the house like an unmanned canoe on an open lake, floating here and there with the changing winds and currents. Every once in a while her body will hum a song as if trying to encant her. Sometimes her body just stops, standing erect, eyes open, but otherwise asleep.

It's at those moments that I might wave my hand before its eyes as if fanning smoking embers to see if I can't spark a flame. The eyes blink, once, twice, three times. They flash upward at me. A brief glimmer of recognition crosses them and then they fall back into a dead stare. Undeterred, I fan some more. This time the commensurate motion is not in the eyes, but along the line of the jaw as it drops and pulls back every so slightly to reveal a smile. I know she's in there. I keep waving.

The eyes change. I can't tell you exactly what it is that I see (it's not motion or dialation), but a switch flips and they begin to slowly transition from dead to live. 

Iris is coming. She's slipping into her body as a famous actor might slip through the back door of a crowded theater. Her head jerks upward, her arms stretch outward, she yawns loudly with sylables that sound something like, "mmmmmyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaabadababadabadabaooooooooooo".

Iris has arrived. 

She yawns, stretches and shouts, "Nieuwe dag! Fine dag." (It's a new day, a fine day).

Niewe dag! Fine dag! Gelukkige dag! (happy day)

Teflon

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