I have an older sister who wears wisdom like perfume. She dabs it lightly on her collarbone, on her wrists, maybe one last mist before she walks out the door.You’re bound to catch a whiff of it if she brushes past you. But only those closest to her get the most potent dose.
The scent of her most recent spritz is still floating around my senses.
Recently, I was talking to her about a potential suitor. We were both trying to find silver linings but it was becoming painfully clear that there were none. After we placed him in the “no go” pile, she said something that will stick with me for a long time.
It was about a toy.
I loved to play with my younger cousins when they were babies. Kiss their soft chubby cheeks. Laugh as they tried to repeat after me in their baby accents. I especially liked to watch as they tried to make sense of the brightly colored toys that were stationed in their rooms. There was one toy called the Shape Ball. The ball had openings in the shapes of a triangle, square, circle, star, pentagon, etc. The goal is to match the shape of the opening with the shape of the piece and drop it inside the ball.
My cousins, being babies, couldn’t get the hang of it. They didn’t understand that the circle couldn’t be placed inside the star opening. The circle with its smooth curves and the sharp angled star slot weren’t the same. After a couple of minutes of trying and dotting the air with squeals of frustration, they would pound the circle into the opening until it eventually dropped inside the ball. But it’s not supposed to be there.
My sister said sometimes, just like that toy,
we can force a connection with someone who doesn’t match us, a person who isn’t on our level.
The relationship, from start to finish, isn’t fluid; it doesn’t fit because it’s not supposed to. But…
…various things can make us bang the bond into looking like it works. When, in actuality, it doesn’t. And you’re left living with a circle when you’re meant to be with a star.
I don’t want to live with a circle.