Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • They seem to pop up randomly and at the most curious times. She might be working late and I know I won’t get to see her for another few hours and there, almost like a message it says, “Hang in there, bud”. Or maybe she left for work early and I’m bound to hit the snooze another ten times, and it peaks out from under her pillow, smaller yet more meaningful than any gift from a dental-obsessed fairy. Sometimes I’ll be vacuuming, ankles deep in fur that my cat graciously trades for two square meals and a litter box. The thing is, I’m never looking for them, never really aware of their presence. Then they appear, so obviously that I question if I’m losing my vision to have not noticed them before. They’ve been there all along, right? Maybe I’m the one who’s been absent. Maybe I’ve been wrapped up in one of my parallel universes. So in a sense, they pull me back to reality, to a discernible time and date. They let me know this is not a dream, never has been.

    She’s been wearing the same nail polish for as long as I’ve known her, which is to say, not terribly long at all. But I feel like I’ve known her all my life and she’s been wearing that same polish for just as long. The color is huge and vibrant, outshining its lesser siblings like a beacon of Day-Glo light. It’s the sort of color that commands attention, flashy and strong. But she doesn’t wear it with that type of arrogance. No - on her, it’s kind and smart. When she applies it, it’s like it almost takes on her intrinsic values and becomes an extension of her beauty, rather than something superficial that only portrays beauty.

    When I find these fluorescent chips, I never pick them up right away. I’ll stand there for a moment, picturing her applying it with care and precision. Maybe I’ll think of something she said last week. Or how she purses her lips when she’s deep in thought, considering everything there ever was to consider. It’s like these flecks are a postcard from our memories and also an invitation to a wide open future. And then I wonder, is there anything of mine that finds a home in her world, taking my place when I’m not there?
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.