Tuesday, June 30, 2015
From a text
“Please don’t be mad at me,” Sydney says, eyes round as fried eggs. “I sorrrrrry!” She wails, throwing her arms around my waist, wetting the front of my dress. “It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not. “It’s fine, sweetie.”
She’d been painting on the floor and had used one of my grandmother’s bone china tea cups to mix her paint. Acrylic. She’d asked for acrylic paints from her aunt Kim and Kim always obliges, without okay-ing it with us. “Really?” I’d hissed, taking off my party hat. “That shit stains!” Kim had smiled apologetically and said, “I’ll tell her to keep it on newspaper.”
Sydney and I tried to get the paint out of the teacup but it was forever tinged green. “Why don’t you just turn it into a planter or something?” Kim asked. “I liked to drink tea out of it, that’s why!” I said a little too enthusiastically.