Yesterday I thought of Texas. Of the little house on the river, with the open living room and the spiral staircase that Mom painted red, yellow, purple and green. A house with its own soundtrack; a time in my life when there was always music playing. Always someone singing, or dancing in the space between the back of the living room couch and the edge of the dining room table. Spinning, clapping, heads bopping to the beat. Her hips shaking, Mom would make tacos in the long, thin kitchen. Toes always tapping as Dad searched for books on the shelves. Genesis. Jude Cole. I know more Steely Dan lyrics than a girl my age reasonably should.
Sometimes I’ll be driving home from work when one of these songs comes on the radio and I think of you, the two of you, smiling and twisting your way across the floor. I think of my childhood in that little house on the river, and how wonderful it was to always have a reason to dance.