And the Eyes Widen In Delight

As I lean into the bathroom to shut off the light, I glance at my reflection in the mirror to see if I look presentable--curly hair being unruly most of the time.  What I notice is the semi-permanent droop of my mouth and its echo above, alongside my nose.  My eyes have bags and are halfway open.  I purse my lips as if to smile, and I leave the hotel room.  Shuffling down the hall, struggling to button the cuff of my shirt while I balance my coffee so as not to spill, I glimpse a tiny pair of legs clad in denim appearing around the corner, followed by the bright blue t-shirt with tiny arms paddling back away from the other corridor.  The boy is followed by a long pink tongue, and a huge head of golden hair, ears flopping in rhythm with the tongue licking the tiny face.  He giggles, and I smile.  Dogs and babies...   A moment later, his mother scoops him up, wraps the leash around her arm and they are gone.   As I wait for the elevator, I turn around and see my reflection in the gilt-framed mirror opposite the elevator.  No more drooping mouth, and the eyes have opened wide.

Once on the elevator, out of habit, I look at my email.  Same old thing, mostly ads, the word of the day, a message from google calendar--"You have no events scheduled for today."  But the phone automatically checks once more for mail, and a new message pops up.  It's from a real person, an especially close friend.  Should I read it now, or save it?  Here's the lobby, I think I'll wait.  

We gather in the lobby, coffee, oatmeal, a banana.  Breakfast adjoins the small talk.  Soon we wrap it up.  It's time to head for the airport.  The car is covered in snow, ice holding the wipers fast, a white frozen layer waits to be scraped away.  The driver starts the car and the defrosters, making no headway against the frost as cold air circulates within,  We pass the makeshift scraper (a purloined room key) across the car, each clearing a side the best we can.  When we return to the front of the car, small drops have replaced the icy remains of the scraped surface at the bottom of the windshield.  At once, the wipers begin their loud swipe across the windshield, gradually removing frost as the heat travels up the glass.  By now we are all inside the car, watching our breath fog the windows as our teeth chatter.  The rear window, with the electric defrost embedded in the glass begins to show the grid, then to melt its cover of frost.  Once a third of the windshield is clear, the driver backs out and we are off.       An hour later, I settle into my airline seat, and, before turning off my phone, I remember the message.  It's just a thanks for a greeting sent the day before, and a remembrance of some simple truth we've shared.  Again, the eyes widen and I smile.