Mari wants to go to Paris. She's six and infatuated with all things French and all things unicorn. I explained to her that unicorns are hard to find these days. The best place she could probably find one is in Paris or somewhere in the French countryside, probably on the northern coast standing gallantly with that cold breeze whipping up their mane and rainbows sprouting all around.
When I dreamed of my little girl many many years ago, she looked just like you. She was an artist.
I told her this, she smiled. Her cheeks turned red, then continued with her rant.
I like more stuff than Noah. I like purple, and butterflies, and Audrey Hepburn in Paris.
She has on an Audrey Hepburn t-shirt her momma bought her. She's a perfect blend of my ex-wife and I, my dark features, olive skin, my nose, my tarahumara cheekbones with mom's almond eyes, button chin, and slender little physique. I should put her in a convent as soon as possible but I'm not gonna deprive some moron 20 years from now from the misery of her tantrums and fiery stubbornness.
My first dance with her was in Ms. Gordy's house many years ago, a sweet woman with a big heart, Mari was only weeks old. I was married then, I was love with my daughter, and my new life. Many years from now I won't regret a moment I spend with little Mari. I'll discinegrate into an inevitable eternity dreaming of my little girl, an artist.