Patterns

In the beginning, there was you.

I longed for you and the delicious scent that got stronger the closer you got. Flowers, you smelled like flowers. I passed time waiting for the moments you would hold me. In your arms I was your precious. I was your little Debbie. Tight against your chest - your warmth, lyrical voice and the gentle bouncing comforted me. I had no words then, only thoughts, images, senses.

I remember the roundness of your face, and your dark eyes and black and silver glasses. I remember how your curls framed your face. I remember your fingers running through my curls and how your fingernails had red tips that matched your lips. And that smile. Every time you saw me you were beaming. It was easy to mirror that. Love breeds love.

There were others.

The young woman in the kitchen who fed me bottles and swayed along with music on the radio. I can still picture her back and the crisp dress she wore as she cleaned dishes in the sink. I remember the young man who's face was much like yours who came home at night. He tossed me into the air and caught me while singing life has it's funny little ups and downs, downs and ups, ups and downs. And the other woman - with the warm chest and gentle bouncing - her face dark but with teeth and eyes gleaming. I was her little Debbie too, a "beautiful lil' child." Her scent was fresh bread and soap. As she carried me -she sang songs I could feel. Swing low sweet chariot, hush lil baby don't say a word mamma's gonna buy you a mocking bird. The young woman in the kitchen sang to me too. Three little fishes in an itty bitty pool and mares eat oats and doe's eat oats and little lambs eat ivy a kid'l eat ivy too wouldn't you.

I grew up singing.

My clothes smelled like you because you'd made them. Sweaters and bonnets and socks so soft and sweet. I still have many of them. Minty green with white fur collars. Pink with pearl buttons. I even have ones you made for my father when he was a baby.

There was a day we sat in on a chair set out in the freshly mowed grass. The chair bent backward to rock. I was clinging to you and looking up past your face at the patterns the sunlight made as moved through branches of the trees over our heads. I slipped into sleep in your arms.

I found a chair from the 50's that bends like that. I rock, eyes closed as the California sunlight washes over my face and remember you. My precious Dee Dee. My grandmother.