“I better get dressed,” I said. “Jeeze, ask me if I wanna go outside.”
“Do you wanna go outside?” Ming asked.
“No,” I said. “But if this is my specified hour, I better get my ass out there.” Summer in the desert means only the dawn hour is good for me to be outside.
He was putting on his shoes, still waking up.
“I should bring the rest of myself out there too. No one likes a huge, white floating ass.”
He continued to put his shoes on.
“Well, any ass, probably,” I said, imagining different demographics of floating ass in the courtyard. No demographic of floating ass seemed right.
I played for Ming the video of the people dancing, To My Love. I watched him as he watched it to see if he would cry. It was cool to observe his eye movements. I wondered what drew his attention–colors, shapes, bunches of small bananas, a dancer’s breasts, the foreground baby separate from the dancing couple.
“You didn’t cry!” I said, at the end.
“No,” he said.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Good,” he said.
“Probably you’re not thinking about my mom that much, huh?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Do you find it moving, the little kids being treated as valid humans?”
“I like it…” he said.
“But you don’t really intensely need it, huh?” I asked.
“Right,” he said.
“Yeah, I need it really bad.” Some kid trauma is hurting me a lot lately. Some respect I really needed.
On a walk lately, we saw this trash. We were checking out a walker, like an assistive device to help someone not fall. It was on the sidewalk and seemed undamaged but too dirty to deal with.
I noticed the other trash and was drawn in by the lamp. Then I was charmed by the rake head, and the stuffie monkey surprised me.
I kinda like the red bowl–we have blue bowls like that. Is the yellow thing a shotgun shell? We see that around here.