He seems ... well, short. I can hear these thoughts going through my mother’s head, a sort of mother-daughter telepathy. “He” sits quietly to my left, holding my hand in the dark recesses of the under-table void.
And so quiet. I thought Kayla would fall for someone less reserved.
I can see him through her eyes: this tacit boy sitting all-too-near her baby girl, who only opens his rosebud mouth when an utterance is unavoidable. This is the young philosopher I love, whom, though pensive, I would never categorize as quiet. Now he seems to be struck dumb. My parents can intimidate, even under normal circumstances, and this toe-curling, shift-in-your-seat situation won’t become normal for a good many months.
He’s cute, though. And he sure has gorgeous eyes.
I love his eyes, too, Mom. To risk sounding cliché, they beg you to drown in them, twin pools of the warmest brown liquid rimmed with long, defining lashes. They’re expressive, sparkling with his laughter and deepening in his pain. My mother thinks they’re just pretty, though.
The uncomfortable conversation shifts to music, and suddenly the sun comes out.
Man, this kid has a great smile.
Great doesn’t even come close, Mom. It’s not a light-up-the-room smile, but rather one that lights up your life. You glow in its warmth, and when his lips close, when clouds again cover the sun, a dimple remains to promise more sunny days to come. It’s a smile that can break my heart with its sweetness.
She realizes its power, if not its full magnitude. Soon he’s seated at the piano, back slouched in its customary position and face reflecting in the shine of black lacquer, in the hopes of prompting another glowing affirmation of the beauty in life. As his fingers stroke the imitation ivory, he gives an even more striking gift.
The world comes alive, melts, spins with sound. This isn’t music, it’s magic, and I can hear my mother thinking that too. We sit in a now-comfortable silence while chords continue resonating in our minds.
Awe-struck is the only word.
I can see from her expression that my mother just fell for this slender boy with magician’s fingers, which is okay, because I’ve fallen in love with him all over again, too.
“Your parents are so cool,” he whispers to me.