The arrows hitting the roof.
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He shot the arrow onto the roof the night of our party. The first party I was throwing with the kids in years. I was in my bliss.
He is me. He creates drama. Conflict that draws others around to work together to solve. He creates a situation, an event within an event.
As his brother was working hard to get his arrow up on the roof too, he starts carrying the ladder outside to the deck where my friends and I are drinking tequila and grapefruit and soaking in the sun before the party starts.
We sat laughing while the boys strategically plan how to get the now two arrows on the roof. The ladder is complicated and needs to be raised fully.
As we let them fiddle around I can feel my pride rising. This boy has ambition. Drive. He wants to figure it out. He wants the freedom to explore, try, fail.
The most amazing thing is that he is me. I would believe that I could get that arrow. He believed it. I believed him.
After about 10 minutes my friend Cookie stands up and pulls the ladder up to the roof. She climbs up and the kids stand nervously watching, waiting, believing. She is their hero on the ladder that they are actually scared to really climb.
They made this happen. He manifested it. He believed.
When the arrows hit the roof our knowing of what was possible expanded. Our connection with each other felt tighter, more joyful.
He creates a situation so he can solve it. Bring people together. He is drama. Fierce emotion. Sharp tongue.
He is quick to calm with touch and words and his favorite song.
He holds no grudge.
He rubs my shoulders just because.
He is a boy of nine years wise and young. Born in a car, slipped right out of me, ready for this beautiful life.
He is me. He has my hair, my teeth, my intuition, my struggle to pay attention or finish any one thing before starting five more, my heart, my depth, my desire for fun and freedom.
He tells me we are so much better now because he sees that I am happy in ways I never could express or live fully before now.
He brings me to my knees in tears in a way no one else ever has because he hits places inside of me that are mirrors of shame and grief and regret. And then I become better while I help him heal.
He laughs big. Loud. Silly.
He is the boy who is now taking care of me, holding me, helping to raise me into this new life.
He is shooting arrows onto the roof to see what is possible. To create more inside of this life than anyone could ever believe more than him.
And I believe.