Posted By jayna on November 21, 2015
The sound of reintegration is jarring. It’s a song that is familiar but too loud, too fast, and you can’t remember the words. Crescendos at all the wrong places. Radio stations being turned on, overlapping each other and at full volume, crackling with static. Footsteps tap dancing across the floors – wooden, and stone, and brick – all echoing in competition.
It’s our living room on a chilly Saturday afternoon.
Four small voices, each trying to be bigger than the next. They cry out, yell out, shriek, laugh, shout, and bounce within these walls. We start and we stop, leaving fourteen thoughts half finished with sixteen interruptions per sentence. Christmas lists and travel plans and house repairs and family affairs, all left hanging open as we skip from one to the next with each distraction.
Weeks apart and now this one day together . . .
We dance, feet in rhythm until one stumbles on the dirty laundry. Spins take us one way, and then the next, stretched out to just barely touching fingertips. A kiss for a bumped head and a swipe of the brush for a tangle of hair. A toy set right and three words spelled out letter by letter. Crumbs swept off the counter and hangers for stray coats. Back again, spin together, and feet in rhythm. Forty nine thoughts started and stopped in between the beats.
It’s loud and chaotic and messy, but oh, is it wonderful to have a partner in this dance again. Even if the music is so terribly hard to keep up with.