The white card is crisp,
Snapping straight when bent.
Black printed words color the front,
One in particular catches my eye:
“Beginning.”
Nagging spotlight jumps from peer to peer,
Around a busy room,
The order choppy, inconsistent.
Tangled racket follows,
Fluctuating in waves.
I do as instructed when attention comes to me,
Standing, raising my card, repeating meaningless words.
“I have ‘beginning.’ Who has ‘ending?’”
Commotion overpowers,
Drowning shaky sentences in a sea of chaotic clamor.
My head swivels on my shoulders,
Attention coloring my cheeks.
Concerned eyes scan a crowded space,
Heart racing for fear of embarrassment.
I come up empty handed.
A chair scrapes behind me,
I look back.
“I have ‘ending.’”
You look up,
Dropping the card on the desk.
My chest fills,
As does my head.
I pull my eyes elsewhere,
Tucking this newfound sign away,
Storing it in my young brain.
Excitement flooded my eight year old body,
As I realized that we began with me.
This sense of purpose rang loud and true,
Until a couple of nights ago,
When I realized that you ended us.