In the future she wears a spacesuit and jetpack, she soars toward the moon, her visor reflects my hazel eyes. A tinge of sadness mixes with a larger dose of wonder about times her father may have been lost in life when she was young and did not know.
I think about my father in the early 1980s, wearing Levi’s and jogging shoes. The collar of a plaid shirt above a navy v-neck sweater, his glasses fogging up while driving away from the city, alone in our spaceship silver Chevy Impala.
Evening walks with my daughter have turned eerie in the autumn. The other night we became bewildered on shadowy Summit Avenue. The songbirds were singing dark, twisted songs. Crows swayed on branches in the trees prodding them on. The chorus of chirps contained no sweetness but foreboding and suggestion. They led us to a windy road on a steep hill lined with misshaped houses that grew in peculiarity the further sideways and down we went. Odd noises emanated from the twilight below, calling to us, confusion was feeling permanent when Lucy spotted a child who motioned us to follow her out of the darkness. The little girl ran through tree trunks and cast iron fences as we paced beside her. Long stem flowers whisked through her body and looked striking on her ghostly face, much like a leaf adrift in midair, not quite to the ground, on its fall.
There is a clever man who is behind an “Action Office’ wall. (CUBICLE!) I can hear him eating donuts. The sound of teeth biting into a donut is indescribable, almost. It is like a head hitting a stiff pillow or body hitting a soft mattress or a hard mattress hitting a carpeted floor or a carpeted floor absorbing a bare foot or a bare foot stepping on moss (there it is).
He stood at the kitchen window and listened as the coffee slowly started to percolate. He watched as the sun rode into his backyard on the back of a cloud. The sun in the tree tops reminded him of the green wallpaper in the living room of the house he grew up in, where shapes of leaves were outlined with bright yellow lines as if the sun shone on them. On winter days he would stare into the wallpaper and pretend it was summer. He then thought of being at the river when the sun reflects off of flowing water and makes the leaves on the shore turn into electric, flashing lights. He then thought of standing with her in front of the bar they used to meet at, how the neon sign bathed the side of her face in light. He then wondered if neon lights would be part of the future of wallpaper, if one day his walls would glow and cast light on her.