After I say hello, her weathered face breaking into a thousand smiles, after we each pause in our opposite direction walks to talk about the nice weather, I admire her pierced nose, how I like the simple little rhinestone she wears. The way it glitters in the sun. That I am probably going to get mine pierced too.
My daughter loves it, she tells me, brushing a strand of dirty hair out of her eyes, and slipping her weathered hands into the pockets of a worn brown coat-shyly smiling a thousand smiles more down at her feet. She told me she thinks it makes me look pretty.
I have a daughter as well, I share. Smile a thousand smiles of my own, and we are, in that moment, simply two proud mothers. Identical.
Except for that worn brown coat of hers.
She slips her hands out of her pockets to take my hand, dislodging a spoon in the process, bends to pick it up, and I understand. How it meant the world to her. What her daughter said.
Based on a true story of mine. A to Z day five.