I don’t know about anyone else, but I get moments of random, fictional lives that pop into my head on a regular basis. Usually they’re just moments, and they flick through like the page of a photo album or the passing comment of a stranger walking by while having a phone conversation. Sometimes they get stuck and stories grow out of them as the moment becomes a character with more to say. Other times, they’re just moments.
The below was a moment that stayed just that, but was so sweet (to me, anyway) that I figured I would share it. Who knows, maybe it’s a jumping point for another writer? If so, I hope their story gets to be a finished product so I can find out what happened with these two – either leading up to or after this moment that was shared with me.
“Daddy? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?”
He chuckled a bit, the passing thought that her instructor’s question from earlier would get stuck in her head was now answered over an hour later.
“Well,” he started, drawing out the single word as he finished tying up her slipper. “Likely only your mom,” he sat straighter and double checked that her tiara was pinned tightly enough. “But only because the rest of them would all sit down just so they could watch her,” he added.
She beamed a smile at him, both of them trying hard not to cry for a moment. Ignoring the glittering mask of makeup that she was wearing for a brief second, she hugged him tight.
“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” he answered, hugging just as tight until it was time to let go.
“How do I look?” she asked her usual pre-recital question, striking the first pose of her next number, all six years of her suddenly looking older than twenty in his eyes.
“Terrible,” he replied quickly with his normal response. “We’ll just have to go home and get ready all over again.”
“Dad-dy!” she rolled her eyes and humphed at him, the toe of her slipper tapping quietly as she crossed her arms.
“Fine, try again,” he said. She went back into her pose and was all grown up in a moment.
“Beautiful,” he said honestly, finishing their usual pre-recital habit with a kiss to the top of her head that would leave him finding sparkles in his beard for the next three days in spite of showers. Then her instructor was waving her over to the edge of the stage, lining up all the kids as the introduction for this next dance was finishing up. She waved back to him as she went out into the lights.
Why are Authors crazy? I can't answer that, but I can provide bits of my own thoughts so that you can piece together why I may be.