Besides the Game

The physical embodiment of my emotions    

      Little finger prints on my mirror. Eating leftover Chicken Mole and salsa. Drinking coffee to cure the effects of happy exhaustion. These were the remnants of a Super Bowl gathering. It’s not the game that gets my family giddy in February, it’s the promise of a reunion with friends, whom we have lovingly dubbed “extendeds.” We cleaned all weekend for the brief, Sunday night affair. But it was worth every wearying chore. For an evening I remembered what it felt like to be surrounded by people I loved and am loved by to the core. For that meal,  I laughed again until I had tears in my eyes. During the duration of that game I fell into a rythm of satisfying the little ones’ desire for a playmate and participating in the thrill of the national event. Someone, during the course of the night, said that “it felt right;” to be lounging  together cracking jokes about who would win the Super Bowl. Instead of watching the half-time show, we all gravitated toward the kitchen to chat. As the game came to an end and little bodies of children were flinging themselves in front of the projector to make shadows around the Broncos’ feet, I willed the moment to keep going. But soon I would go back to missing the extendeds, the people who fit so perfectly into my life, they really should have been my real relations.

Beyonce? Nah.
Taking pictures of people and food were evidently more important to me than anything Super Bowl related.
The games you play with little kids don’t have to always make sense.

      Monday came and I was still recovering from the overload of happiness. But I think I know what heaven will feel like.

     Veronica A.

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