in her eyes

Henry collects stories everyday. From riding the bus on his way to work to walking on the busy streets on his way back home. He wants to look on people and tries his best to see through them. He observes how kids play in the park, how they eat their ice cream, or how they run with other kids. At work, during lunch, he would create stories out of these observations and write them on his notebook.

One day, on his way back home, he stopped at the park where kids were having a small party. There were a lot of kids and he couldn't follow all of them. He stood a few feet away from the party. He could see clowns, cupcakes, balloons, parents on their phones, kids running around, kids crying on their mother's lap, and a little girl staring at him. She was wearing a red dress, hair was styled in braid, holding a cupcake on her right hand. He waved at the little girl, and before he could step forward the girl ran to her mother, crying. The mother looked at Henry, and he knew that look- the look of judgment. He felt the rush to leave so he walked away. Two months ago, he was reported for watching the kids play saying he was a creep. His hands were cold, his heart racing as he hear the mother shouting at his back. He ran as fast as he could.

He shut the door of his house.

"Daddy you're home!", Alice yelled in excitement. She hugged her father from his waist.

"Do you have stories for me today?" she continued.

"Of course! I have a lot of fun stories for you tonight. So don't sleep fast!" Henry said while catching his breath.

"Alice is pretty behave today. You don't need to worry.", Susan, Henry's sister, stood just behind Alice.

"Thanks Susan, I really appreciate what you do for Alice."

"For you Henry, for Alice.", Susan kissed Alice on her cheek before grabbing her keys and left.

Henry checked his bag for his notebook, it wasn't there. He must have dropped it somewhere, in the bus? in his office? in the park?

He looked at his six-year-old daughter. Her eyes looked bright. He closed his eyes, to remind himself that this is what her child sees everyday.

Maybe it's time to tell a story that's not pre-written. Maybe it's time to tell her a story where we imagine things together, eyes closed, and experience my stories in her eyes.

He thought.

(Wrote this in my journal, October 15, 2022.)