Little Magic
She hadn't felt this down in a long time--years really--and for that, she was glad. For a while there, it was too often that she'd barely managed to make it out of the house with a dry set of eyes. But today, the crack in her chest ached with each breath, even though her physical self remained intact. As she reached for her cup of peppermint tea, she inhaled--once, twice--and willed the normally soothing aroma to work it's magic. With a rueful shake of her head, she realized that this time, it didn't.
Simply put, she was tired. Of so many things in her life. The drama that had become her family. (How many times could her brother-in-law possibly call complaining about that dick he worked for?) The lack of acknowledgment from her friends. (She scheduled several coffee dates, only to have them fall apart at the last minute.) The chest-puffing and name calling at work. (Weren't we past all of that, say, back in elementary school?) No, she didn't need any of those melodramatic moments in her life right now, and as much as she tried to ignore them (for her husband always said it's the easiest route to take), she found she couldn't. Not anymore. Something about the cluster of negativity seeped into her soul and had taken root. The more she surrounded herself with the everyday ordinary, the more depressed she became.
And then, the phone rang.
She shuffled into the kitchen, picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. The long cord (yes, they still had one of those in the house) tangled between her fingers and a slight buzz hit her ear. Her head recoiled a little at the noise.
"Hello?" she said, her voice a mere whisper. It was the best she could do in that moment.
"Hello, Mommy. I'm upstairs. I have your phone!" A large giggle erupted from her four-year-old daughter's mouth, and she imagined the huge smile that must have been dancing across the face of the youngster.
"Why hello there, little lady." The corners of her mouth turned up, for the first time in weeks, it seemed. Her back settled against the kitchen wall. "How did you get my phone?"
"It was on the table next to your bed."
She hadn't remembered leaving it there, but these days, she wasn't remembering much. "And what were you doing in my room?"
"Oh Mommy! I was making a pizza with Daddy!"
The insane guffaws of her husband--always the clown--filtered into her ear. She imagined his hands tickling her daughter's sides as she tumbled into a pile of laughter onto the bed. The loud plink of the phone as it hit the wood floor of her bedroom reverberated across the phone line.
For a moment, she just stood there, listening to the activity going on upstairs. She covered her mouth with her hands (to stop from laughing, which felt great) as she heard bits and pieces of the conversation going on between daddy and daughter: how the cheese should be sprinkled on the dough of the little girls' belly, how not to make the sauce so hot, how maybe they should make a burrito instead, and whether or not Mommy should be disturbed.
"Mommy's not well right now. She's a little sad," her husband said.
"I know." Over the line, the little girl's voice had changed from carefree and happy to downright serious. How had that happened? she thought, but craned her ear closer to the receiver, as if the action alone would help her hear better. "That's why I called her. I love her and I want her to be happy."
Her hands shook and tears poured forth from her eyes (happy tears, she realized) as she placed the phone back on the cradle. One simple sentiment--a little magic and love from her daughter--had helped begin to erase the demons. It would be a long road to getting back to a good place in her life, but by golly, she would do it. She had to do it. For her, and for her daughter.
Simply put, she was tired. Of so many things in her life. The drama that had become her family. (How many times could her brother-in-law possibly call complaining about that dick he worked for?) The lack of acknowledgment from her friends. (She scheduled several coffee dates, only to have them fall apart at the last minute.) The chest-puffing and name calling at work. (Weren't we past all of that, say, back in elementary school?) No, she didn't need any of those melodramatic moments in her life right now, and as much as she tried to ignore them (for her husband always said it's the easiest route to take), she found she couldn't. Not anymore. Something about the cluster of negativity seeped into her soul and had taken root. The more she surrounded herself with the everyday ordinary, the more depressed she became.
And then, the phone rang.
She shuffled into the kitchen, picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. The long cord (yes, they still had one of those in the house) tangled between her fingers and a slight buzz hit her ear. Her head recoiled a little at the noise.
"Hello?" she said, her voice a mere whisper. It was the best she could do in that moment.
"Hello, Mommy. I'm upstairs. I have your phone!" A large giggle erupted from her four-year-old daughter's mouth, and she imagined the huge smile that must have been dancing across the face of the youngster.
"Why hello there, little lady." The corners of her mouth turned up, for the first time in weeks, it seemed. Her back settled against the kitchen wall. "How did you get my phone?"
"It was on the table next to your bed."
She hadn't remembered leaving it there, but these days, she wasn't remembering much. "And what were you doing in my room?"
"Oh Mommy! I was making a pizza with Daddy!"
The insane guffaws of her husband--always the clown--filtered into her ear. She imagined his hands tickling her daughter's sides as she tumbled into a pile of laughter onto the bed. The loud plink of the phone as it hit the wood floor of her bedroom reverberated across the phone line.
For a moment, she just stood there, listening to the activity going on upstairs. She covered her mouth with her hands (to stop from laughing, which felt great) as she heard bits and pieces of the conversation going on between daddy and daughter: how the cheese should be sprinkled on the dough of the little girls' belly, how not to make the sauce so hot, how maybe they should make a burrito instead, and whether or not Mommy should be disturbed.
"Mommy's not well right now. She's a little sad," her husband said.
"I know." Over the line, the little girl's voice had changed from carefree and happy to downright serious. How had that happened? she thought, but craned her ear closer to the receiver, as if the action alone would help her hear better. "That's why I called her. I love her and I want her to be happy."
Her hands shook and tears poured forth from her eyes (happy tears, she realized) as she placed the phone back on the cradle. One simple sentiment--a little magic and love from her daughter--had helped begin to erase the demons. It would be a long road to getting back to a good place in her life, but by golly, she would do it. She had to do it. For her, and for her daughter.
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