[trapped in a perfect world]
[by bittersweet]
Looking back on my reasons for leaving, I wish someone had killed me sooner. I remember so much of my home, because I'm one of those people that remember everything there is to remember about anything.
I remember the first time my mom brought me into the city and the way my eyes lit up by the scene of the bright lights. I told my mom that some day I would move to the big city to make my life as a performer and that I would be the greatest performer of all time. She would laugh and run her hands through my curls, telling me I could be anything I wanted to be. She told me that the world was mine to embrace, to seize the day and make the most of each moment.
My mother was a beautiful woman, soft brown curls that surrounded her face in little wisps that complimented the shade of her creamy skin. She would always look beautiful and wear her prettiest dresses and hats almost everyday and I thought that there was no woman prettier then my mother in all the state of New York. Only looking back now do I connect that she wanted to be an actress but had to give it up when I came, yet she told me to seize the day.
I remember when she would take me out to the park on clear and warm spring days and spread a blanket on the ground. She would pack us a lunch and have me run around gathering dandelions so she could make me a crown and she would put one behind her ear. She used to sing to me, her voice was clear and sweet, and I would fall asleep just listening to her speak sometimes, it was so calm and soft. Her voice never got loud or angry and she would sing and whistle her way through every day.
No wonder she married my father. He was her other half, her equal in almost every way. He used to come home from work every day at 5:03 and the first thing he would do was kiss my mother and hand me a piece of candy. I adored him in every way shape or form. He was my idol and absolutely amazing.
We had lots of money when I was there; each room had big pieces of polished furniture that I wasn't allowed to touch without the maid yelling at me. My favorite room was my dad's office though. It had a big oak desk that him and I would climb under with a candle and have secret chats and tell ghost stories.
The best part was that my father kept the most important thing in my life in the office, the snow globe. It had a miniature version of New York City in the middle, complete with tiny people that I would direct family and friends names to, even if I didn't tell them.
When I was about seven or so, I ran into his office one day looking for someone to play with, he was doing work busily, but he pulled me onto his lap so I could help him. I remember pretending to do work busily for about 2 or 3 minutes before I became restless and started reaching for the snow globe. Avoiding the mess my father picked it up and turned it upside-down, letting all of the snow collect at the bottom. Then he inverted it, letting all the snowfall down onto the city of New York, like magic.
That time it wasn't the same though, I had questions and concerns for the little people in the city, the little specs of people ice-skating and walking.
"What if they want to get out of there Daddy," I asked him staring at the snow fall slowly over the city.
"Don't worry Mush," he paused, "they're trapped in a perfect world." He answered while brushing his fingers through my hair and sending me off to play with my mother who stood smiling at the door.