Listening

Tell me your story.

Who are you?

Where were you born?

Where have you been?

I’m here.

Wide awake and listening on the edge of my seat.

I want to know what you had for breakfast and who gave you the recipe.

Are you an only child?

Who held you when you had your bad dreams? Fell down? Threw up?

When you were seven, did you put cards on the spokes of your bicycle wheels like I did, with clothespins?

What’s some good advice you got? What happened when you followed it?

You have my undivided attention. Here, take it (she says, her cupped hands empty and open and waiting, with infinite room for the details of you).

There’s a tuxedo kitten nestled in the space between my neck and my right shoulder, listening too, patient audience of one and I tell him my secrets and he doesn’t mock me. Nods in all the right places. He’ll take care of whatever you tell him, held safely in his little velvet-padded paws.

Who hears your secrets? Besides you?

What do you tell yourself when you’re unsure? I hope you talk kindly, like you would to someone who means the world to you, your dearest and most trusted reliable friend.

Tell me another story. Your history is safe in my ears. I’ll even watch for what you don’t say, the glances left and right, the gestures and nodding and fidgety fingers and that slow beginning of a smile creeping up on your lips. I’m here for it all, until the house lights come on and folks head for the exit doors. I’ll stay for the credits.

What do you remember? What are you trying to just…forget, but it won’t leave you alone?

I know. I know.

Do you like raisins? Are you more of a banana person?

I’m an apple gal myself. That crunch and those juices I lick off my fingers are good anytime. Sometimes I have two in one day.

When was the last time you laughed out loud? What made you do that? Dad had a great laugh. Mom too. She’d smile wide and show all her teeth and throw her head back. Seeing your parents laugh is a great gift.

I saw a fox’s den today in the patch of woods down by the creek. The entrance looked freshly pawed. It’s too close to the chicken coops so we’re going to watch extra carefully these next few weeks as winter hands over the keys to spring. I’ll keep you posted.

But getting back to you…

How are you? Really?

No harm.

No judgement.

No foul.

No fire.

Acceptance. Attention. Regard. The most respectful curiosity. And all the time in the world.

You know, you don’t have to tell me anything. But if you change your mind, I’ll be here.