Kaleidoscope lights slipped past the fibers of her blindfold. And she twirled.
…and she twirled….
… and she twirled.
Her mother’s hands rested on her shoulders in little hugs that sent her spinning like a top. In her own hands she held a broom that had been reincarnated as a magic wand and mystical piñata opener.
(The piñata itself was once an ordinary grocery bag. Presto, change-o – it became stuffed with Possibility, Magic and Candy.)
She was the ballerina in the center of the pink music box…
She was the Birthday Girl.
Four sets of hands swung the baton. Two laughs, one the child-echo of the other, bantered in the cool bright day of a sunny February. Gathered children cheered and danced, catching candy as it fell.
All her favorites were there…
Mini Snickers and Peanut Butter Cups.
Her mother made her cake with coconut and butter cream icing, a chocolate cake frosted pink and yellow, shaped like a horse. Golden paper crowns from the restaurant down the street were covered in pink and gold glitter, trademarks hidden. She crowded her orange house with screaming, running, laughing children.
Ordinary things were made extraordinary on ordinary days.
The milk in the vinyl lunchbox was sweetened with sugar and vanilla. It came in shades of pink or blue or green.
All the costumes that ever were, were made for her. She had blue-green ballerina skirts for a tiny little Cinderella, royal in tulle and satin and sequins. She became a dancing canary with a feathered skirt and feather wristbands. She had lion costumes for Halloween and sat by the sewing machine as her mother made it.
Anything she dreamed, anything she imagined, could become real.