She was a perpetual motion machine. From the moment Sue dropped her off, she would ping off the walls, circle dance, wave at passing planes, cars and people, jump, run, slide on the hardwood floors. I would arrange pillows on the floor, and she would bounce off them, giggling, or pile them one atop the other and leap for the floor.
When Sue took her home, I was always exhausted. I poured a glass of wine, put my feet up on the couch (after I had returned the cushions) caught my breath before I surveyed the havoc, the disaster. Not that I minded taking care of her, it just took a while to recover.
One day, when I was in another room, I realized that the apartment was quiet. No thumping, humming, bumping or jumping. I rushed into the living room, all kinds of worse case scenarios running through my mind.
And there she was, standing still, a look of wonderment on her face. She had discovered my zen garden – one of the things I put away when she was coming. But this time was last minute, the place not completely Amanda-proofed.
Now, we spend time in another world, where there is quiet, thoughts, amazement, stillness. She is more zen-full than I ever would have thought.
(I’ve broken the word count rule several times – not always on purpose. This time the story is 217 words – I’m getting closer, lol.)