seeing Jordan

Dear Jordan,

I'm really glad I'm your mentor.

Last night was rough at work, sort of the sour cherry on a bitter sundae kind of rough. I tried to pack it away in my head as I went over to your house, focusing on how you'd respond when you got your book. But it just circled around. 

I tried to think of things to say as I waited for you to answer the door, but what resonated through my head was how different life is now that you're a part of it. Everything feels different, because I wonder how you'd react to it. Alt rock and goth seems naughtier when I listen to it, because I wouldn't if you were with me. Random art pieces I see speak more, because I imagine how to explain them to your scientific, young mind.

Friday's coming up again, and I'd like to schedule some time with you. Maybe we could try something different this time, like golf. I thought of trying a batting cage, but the idea of you and a bat, with permission to hit things... Um, yeah. Maybe we could go see the latest exhibit at the DMA instead. (They have definite no-touchy rules. And no bats.)

My mom once said she wished that we could all spend a day in someone else's head, so we could see through their eyes. Then we could see how they see us, and how the world looks to them. There's so much beauty in life, Jordan, so much that's good and doesn't hurt. I wish I could just give you space in my head so you could see it for a little while.

You'd see you the way I do: an enchanting firefly of a young woman with a bent wing and life stretched out before you like desert sky. You'd see the city where we live, full of hard lives covered by carefully maintained Southern gentility. You'd see your mom, a woman who made an impressively big, bad mistake but learned from it. You'd see how hard life after such a thing is. You'd see how it shows how she loves you.

You'd see life reweaving itself around unravelings, twinkles of God.

You'd see why I really look forward to every other Friday.

Be seeing you,

Amber