After school, we have lunch at a diner. After lunch, the waitress offers her a balloon. She chooses orange.
I tie the ribbon around her little wrist. We are in a hurry so I hail a cab. It stops and we climb in. I sit next to her, cuddling her small body into mine as we fly down Broadway. Distracted by something, my mind dancing, I look out the window. At the blur of buildings and cars. At the slivers of sky.
It’s an orange orange world! It’s an orange orange world! she croons.
Is that a new song you learned at school? I ask. I am still looking out the other side of the car. Away from her. Did you learn that at school, babe?
It’s an orange orange world! It’s an orange orange world!
Now I look over and there she is, my tiny thing, balloon pressed to her eyes. She looks through the balloon, the orange balloon, at the world.
I smile. Big. Let me see, I say.
And she hands me the balloon. And I look through it too. At the orange orange world. And then we look through it together. Out the front of the car, out the side.
We should take a picture of the orange orange world, I say.
And her eyes light up. Yeah!
And so we do. I hold my phone up to the balloon and snap away. Capturing this moment, this world. This orange orange beautiful world.
