Bouncing Stories

Before I made the migration back to Texas from Missouri, I was living in my friends basement. Where some people might consider that a step backwards in life, I felt myself blessed to have friends that would take me in. All in all, those few months were very happy for me. Mostly, because of my friends children. He had a little boy and a little girl. I enjoyed playing with them both, building Legos, being their horse to ride around the den, and watching shows on Nickelodeon. But the little girl took to me more easily and more quickly. I think this was mostly because she wanted attention, and I was a willing listener. Every day when she'd get home from school, she'd come into my room, plop down on my bed, and tell me all about her day. What they were serving for lunch, what so-and-so said or did that day, what she liked the best about dance class, etc. I listened as she talked about her life. I enjoyed her perspective on things, and I asked her appropriate questions to prompt her and keep her talking. It would go on like this until her mom would call her back upstairs, so she wouldn't bother me anymore. Sometimes now, I come home from work, and I miss that little girl bouncing on my bed, telling me about her day. I wonder if she misses me too.