Bedtime

If Cory were sitting at the foot of my bed right now, dressed in sleep boxers and a t-shirt, her hair still wet from the shower, I'd have so many things to tell her.  I can see her if I squint, smiling to have my whole attention with brother already off to bed, and leaning forward to hear something funny from my day.  I've been collecting a laundry list of things to be sure to cover with her if I ever wake up and spy her crossed-legged on my quilt.  Wanna hear some?

I'd tell her she looked so cute in glasses.  I don't know why she ever worried or fussed- but then, maybe I do, because it is a rarity that I get a picture of myself taken wearing glasses.

 I'd ask if she remembered embarking on pet ownership together- her all of two years old, and me twenty-one.  Church, that sly tomcat took over the joint like he owned the place, and neither of us were quite sure what to make of him.  Neither of us had ever had a real live animal living with us, and I speak for both us quite confidently that we were shocked when he didn't sleep in the little cat bed we so carefully selected for him.  Instead, he would, gunslinger-like, if you will, bust open your bedroom door without asking, and jump up onto your chest, emitting his rusty purr.  This, quite literally, scared the daylights out of us both.  We were not cut out for this wildness.  We were indoor folk.  Within two days we had politely returned Church to his benefactor, who was most disappointed, as she was not allowed pets at her residence.  By the weekend, my tiny blonde-headed girl was crying for the cat she barely had an acquaintance with, and I had to do some major schmoozing to get that tomcat back.

And back he came, to live the next seventeen years with us, as Cory's object of affection and steady father figure.

I'd also tell Cory that I thought about the blue corduroy skinnies incident lately.  One weekend, on a gear up to holiday shopping, we talked Tim into hauling us over to Old Navy in Kalamazoo.  Everything was on sale, it had just become sweater weather, and we were nearly the same size.  Could you imagine a more perfect storm?  I have no idea to this day if Tim or Jacob walked out with a single item of clothing.  I should feel ashamed, but Cory and I had so much fun, I quite forgive myself.  We bought sweater capelets, when they were just getting popular.  She chose purple, and I chose grey, promising tradesies, of course.  There were cute layering shirts, reasonably priced and not too cheap looking booties, and then...and then, there were the skinny cords. If you've seen me or my girl, or better yet, remember me and my girl together, you will agree skinny cords were made for us.  All that extra ribbing added up to a slightly more curvaceous figure.  Unsure on their sizes, we grabbed a handful and got dressing rooms next to each other.  For whatever reason, we both HAD to have the navy blue.  I got the size zero, and Cory got the size one.  We may or may not have also picked out a couple of sweaters to top our giant bags off; there's really no telling.

We finished the day out by eating at Sonic, and going home to gloat over our purchases.  All was well until the following week, when I came home from work to find Cory padding around the house in her underwear.  "Oh my God, Mom, those skinny pants are mis-sized or something.  I felt like I was going to burst right out of them."

"No way?  Oh man, we'll have to hope they'll take them back.  Where'd you put them?"  I asked her.

Big green eyes said, "Crumpled on my floor, likely covered by a cat's sleeping body by now."

"Go get them, and I'll try to find the receipt."   Dutifully, she tromped upstairs.

As I dug in the giant Old Navy bag stuffed in my closet, I stumbled upon a brand new pair of size one blue skinny corduroys, and just started cracking up.

She heard me laughing like a loon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and demanded to know what was so funny.  I could only hold up the very large and seemingly accusatory numeral one to her face before she snorted out loud, which set me off laughing so hard, I had to grab her arm to steady myself.  When I could breathe, I said, "Honey, how did you....get them...on?"

She cackled madly.  "I just sucked it in and kept pulling."

"Could you breathe?"  I asked her.

"Not really. It was more of a corduroy induced stupor."

We fell back on my bed and laughed until our stomachs ached.  

I have never laughed with anyone like I've laughed with you, Cory.  Sometimes there didn't even have to be words, just a look.

I think I'd tell her she never needed makeup to look beautiful, she just was.  But she looked very pretty when she wore it, also.  I'd tell her how smart she was, and wise for her years, learning some lessons way before her time.  I would tell her how she made everything more fun just by being in the room, unless she was in a mood, and then it was at least more interesting.

I would tell my girl that I miss talking about books and music, movies and art...about love and hate, fairness and struggles.  All the nights I cut her off with, "Cory, I gotta get up for work in the morning."  Man, I wish I could get those back.

I'd tell her I miss her riding beside me in the passenger seat of the car, sneakily manipulating the radio to play all her fav new songs, over and over again, incessantly.

I'd tell her I miss going to get coffees with her and Jake and window shop, inevitably bringing home two animal puppets, one for each of them, because, well...why wouldn't you?

I'd tell her she was worth every blessed moment I got to spend with her, even the hard ones, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

I'd tell her I wish I'd gotten there in time.
I'd tell her I'm sorry I let her walk to the store in the first place.
I'd tell her I'm lost without her because she always made me strive to be a better person.
Hell, I'd probably ask her advice.  How do I just make up this new identity, Cory?  I was supposed to have that job until I died, and I'm quite sure what else I'm really qualified to do, you know, highly qualified, with experience and recommendations and shit.

What would she say?

I wonder.