soap
bubble kisses
18 June 1999
| Today the clouds were | B | I | G | ! |
Todd drove me home, which gave me the opportunity to blow bubbles out the car window to kiss all of our neighboring cars with soap bubble splotches. It's one of those teeny tiny bottles of bubbles that you get at weddings (thanks Karl and Lori!) and most people throw away, but I find them to be the most convenient carrying size... and now they go everywhere with me. We slithered through the madding rush hour crowd near South Station where skaters wore shoes on their hands and a man stood upon a soap box with a R E P E N T sign and no one got angry at me about their soap bubble kisses, not even the bright, shiny, important Grand Cherokees and Lexuses. And a gray-haired man inside a crane near the gargantuan big dig hole on A Street tooted his little crane horn, brought his fingers to his lips, and blew me imaginary bubbles.
What can I say? It was magical.
Todd used to work in another group... in another building... and he whiled away his days writing me side-splitting notes about manuals bound with kite string and jury duty haiku. And on occasion he would write lists: "top ten Far Side comics that begin with the word, 'Sadly...'" or "top ten ways life at MEDITECH is similar to life as an African bushman." I collected them in a file and named it "ranter" and Todd started calling me his authorized biographer.
But now we share a tiny cube. And instead of writing poetry, Todd rolls over to my desk a few thousand times a day and spins the whirly things on my desk and helps himself to Altoids or Pez or Big Babol and promulgates his witty remarks. But sometimes when he's trapped in our little cube all by himself while I'm penned up in a meeting or conference, the poetic ranter returns. Today was such a day... and I want to share.
Todd often calls me a jerk, tries to trip me up by asking me what time it is while I'm wearing my candy watch, and swears that people at MEDITECH who don't know me call me, "... that girl with the eyebrow ring." He understands the importance of eating lunch by the fountain and the magic of Jell-O and why I hate bees. He knows it's not a good idea to talk to me in the morning if he can't smell coffee on my breath and is a willing participant in experiments involving marshmallow bunnies or circus peanuts.
This afternoon in Todd's car I pointed out the window and squealed at meaningless things that are important to me, like the 24-hour post office, and pedestrians turned to follow my hand and stared at me with a frightening wonder. And all the while Todd's expression never changed. Per usual, he shrugged his shoulders and kept us moving forward. And the comfort in his gesture was overwhelming and for a moment I knew how truly lucky I am.
Who in your life lets you shine?