His Joy
by Laura Aviña
Darkness meets my eyes as they open each morning.
I’m warm.
I’m safe.
I wait.
I wait for the voices, the happy ones, the grumpy ones, the voices that instruct, the voices that respond.
I know each of them, my family.
I wait for the footsteps outside my door, not the ones that pass by, but the ones that stop.
I wait for the hands that turn on the light, the hands that lift me, the hands that wash me.
I wait for her face.
She is happy to see me.
I see it in her eyes.
Wheels move my body, wheels moved by my arm.
They move me outside to the front porch.
They move me down the sidewalk.
I see the little things, the little things that become big things and the little things that stay little.
But most of all I wait expectantly for him.
Then I see them, the school children, and I see him, their teacher.
I can’t hear his words, but I see him point toward me.
And then one comes running, running for me!
They are happy to see me!
He is happy to see me.
I see it in their eyes.
I go.
I go with the children.
I watch them stretch.
I watch them play and I play too.
I hear the laughter.
I point.
I yell.
I jabber.
They don’t understand, but they answer anyways.
This is my favorite time.
My favorite place.
I feel so alive.
As they play, I see her.
She is looking for her dog.
I saw where he went when I was watching the little things.
She brings him back.
Soon she will come for me.
Then we go.
Sometimes I want to stay, but I don’t complain.
We go to the classroom.
She talks to me.
She teases me.
I talk to her.
She stretches my legs and my arm.
We listen to music.
I walk.
I stand.
I learn.
Sometimes it is hard.
I feel angry.
I hit her.
I hide my face.
Sometimes she feels angry and she tells me.
We use a screen.
The people I love are on the screen.
The screen says their names.
I say their names.
The screen asks for snacks.
I ask for snacks.
The screen says how I feel.
It says it for me.
Sometimes she hides her eyes behind a blanket.
She says “boo” and I see her eyes again.
It is my favorite game.
I wonder if she is still alive when I can’t see her eyes.
But they always come back.
The eyes that are happy to see me.
After lunch, I go to the porch again.
I watch the little things, the little things that turn into big things and the ones that stay little.
I know that I’m different.
I don’t know why.
It has always been this way.
But I don’t worry.
They are happy to see me.
They are happy to be with me.
And I am happy to be with them.
