I’m wearing skinny jeans with stilettos and a white halter top. Red lips on, platinum hair held back by my rose gold cat-eye sunglasses. His tiny hand reaches for my hand as we cross Brickell Avenue in the roasting heat. He is so beautiful with skin like yours and the most perfect little nose that scrunches up when he is upset or excited. He looks at me with the biggest eyes the same deep brown as yours with eyelashes that go on and on. I take your arm, ready for my hand, as we cross. We are smiling, in love with the little world we have created.
I tuck him into his car seat, and you start the car. Once I am in, you join the traffic pattern to drive us to Vizcaya. He starts singing to the radio in his baby voice, barely able to make any of the words. You hold my hand from across the consul, squeezing it every time he makes a funny combination of words from the backseat as he sings along.
When we arrive at the gardens, you put him on your shoulders. He giggles, something he got from me. You take my hand in yours and we walk towards the old stone mansion and the emerald mazes. The ocean is so blue today, sparkling more than the diamond on my left ring finger. We all stare at it in awe for a moment before moving on. He begs to be let down, and then runs towards the mazes that he has decided to call ‘his puzzles.’ You kiss me before we start to follow his small little steps towards the shrubs and tropical flowers.
When we get home, he falls asleep between us on our massive leather couch watching ‘The Little Prince.’. You pull me closer to you, so he is sandwiched as tightly as can be between our arms, between our love. We all fall asleep to the high-pitched sound of the Little Prince learning to understand life.
This is us. This is us if we had survived.