Shadows and Light

Alternating shadows and bursts of light flitted across my closed eyes
as his hands moved across my face.

I could hear him muttering to himself under his breath, but I couldn't make out the words.
I imagined that he was pretending to be a makeup artist from Face Off,
I, the creator, now the creation.

His hands, usually in rapid motion, were calm and gentle,
the tips of his fingers flitting lightly around my eyes, my cheeks, my chin.

Occasionally I'd be admonished to turn this way or that,
to be still, to stop wiggling..
a reversal of the parent and child.

While he dreamed of being a famous makeup artist,
I made note in my heart of his hands, just slightly smaller than mine.
His breath on my neck, marking his height as still slightly smaller than my own.
His voice, as yet unchanged.

I know the changes that are lurking right around the corner
from this moment in which we stand.

I can feel in my bones the baby, the boy, the tween all becoming a whisper.

Next year, his hands and feet will be bigger than my own.
Next Halloween, he will be my height if not taller.
Soon his already-deep boy voice will begin its descent to adulthood.

I squeeze my eyes closed to hold in the emotions that rise to the surface
and focus on the whisper soft feel of his hands
and beg myself to remember.