In (vain) efforts to assuage anxiety about the ending school
year and all the fiascos such an end entails, I’ve been embarking on mini
projects. Last weekend, I packed up everything in my house that isn’t necessary
to live the next three weeks. My walls are no longer covered with decorations
and my room lacks any sort of eclectic feel it had prior to my packing session.
I’ve been running more, applying for jobs, cooking, and generally keeping
occupied with anything that seems even mildly entertaining.
Last night, after clearing my writing table of books and
post-its, I stared in disgust at the chipping paint (resulting mostly from my
ill-attempt to restore it two summers ago) and littered spots of white and red
from past owners. I considered the time and remaining minutes of daylight and
concluded that I could start (yet another) restoration on the table by sanding
the mild mishaps left over from my impatience previous paint job. My roommate
offered me her sanding block and I carried the table outside and imagined a
“restoration station” behind my parked Honda Element in our mini carport. As
soon as I started sanding, admiring the arm muscles such movements evoked, my
little neighbor girl, Janelly, ran over to investigate.
I’m unaware of details surrounding the condition Janelly
has, but she’s unable to speak beyond making glottal type sounds and her face
offers the remains of some sort of reconstructive surgery, particularly in the
mouth region. Despite our inability to communicate with words, Janelly and I
have shared many hugs and there seems to be an innate bond between her and I
(and anyone she comes in contact with, really). When she met me in my
restoration station, we hugged quickly and in a few words and lots of hand
movements I tried to explain to her the project I was attempting. She nodded in
smiled as if she understood, pointed to some rough spots of the table, parked
herself within an arm’s distance from me, and stuck her ears with earphones and
started listening to Justin Beiber from her IPad
As I sanded, she made noises that I’m certain were songlike
to her. I listened intently to the songs through her IPad and tried to guess
what song she was listening to. When my efforts proved fruitless, my ears turned
to the sounds Janelly was making and the beauty of innocence from the mouth
such sounds came. At one point, a mom and her daughter walked into our
apartment complex. Noticing them, Janelly greeted them with the same enthusiasm
she greeted me with earlier. Then, we assumed our positions again, her close to
me listening to JB and me, slowly sanding.
I’d look up every few moments and Janelly would be moving
her arms, mimicking music videos that I’m certain she watches. Sometimes, she
would point to areas on the table that I needed to re-sand or comment (by
making her signature sound) at a multi-colored area of table that contained
natural wood, white primer, red (from the past owner), and blue paint (from
me). Each critique she offered, either by sound or pointing, made me smile. I
appreciated the honesty that she offered, the genialness of her efforts.
As the sun set and my arms grew too fatigued to sand
anymore, I looked at Janelly and motioned that I would be returning inside. She
smiled, sounded her signature goodbye, and outstretched her arms for one more
hug. She walked next to me to my door and as I ungracefully lugged the table
back into our half packed apartment, she pranced like Tinkerbell to another
neighbor at the end of the complex.
I so admire the innocence Janelly approaches people and
situations with. Unlike some of my other neighbors, her company wasn’t coupled
with 21 questions about my project nor a desire to help or contribute. Rather,
she was happy to jam out to Justin while watching me smooth rough patches on an
old table. During sanding respites, I
took comfort in her crooked smile and jenky dance moves, wishing I could be so
uninhibited, so absolutely enjoying simple moments in life, so trusting of
people and my surroundings. Janelly reminded me that life is seen through the
lens of our created perspective and we are in control of the power of that
lens.
My sweet neighbor, unable to talk and lacking the physical
features culture would deem beautiful, taught me that loving is choosing to
approach life through a lens of innocent exploration and ultimate trust.
No comments:
Post a Comment