A muffled voice says, “Luther, can you knock?”
Two small slaps on the door makes me smile. “Hello?!”
“Okay, you can open it, Luther!”
He strains and grunts for a few minutes unsuccessfully. Chuckling, I sneak to the door and push and he believes he’s done it himself. My two year old friend rushes in, so ecstatic. He runs around to every corner, to every little thing worth exploring and points. I put on the new Radiohead record. He stares at it, transfixed for a moment and then starts to spin and dance. The rain is pouring outside and I’ve opened my window to let in the soothing white noise and fresh, cool air. We start spinning together to the melancholic melodies, grinning.
My best friend comes in a moment later and joins our dancing, lifting and swinging her son around. Their relationship is beautiful to me. Raising a child is a crazy thing. So difficult but full to the brim joyous of moments like these. So full you might easily think them mundane.
He crawls up onto my bed with his kindle and sits behind me now, lounging against my pillows watching cartoons on his lap. A moment earlier he had been cross-legged on my rug, eating a pile of blackberries from his colored plastic plate. I love these moments.