It was, perhaps, a mistake to be there in the first place. Alexis had already professed herself a little too tired and far too cranky to do much of anything. Given that she's 90% zombie, the words, "I'm sleepy" are very foreign coming from her mouth. But I had been looking forward to going to Phipps Conservatory all week, so we were going no matter what.
As we walked amongst the stunning flowers, Alexis' mood fluctuated from ZOMG SO CRANKY to perfectly reasonable. Back and forth, up and down, her attitude adjusted itself and then fell apart and then adjusted itself again. It was all because she had stayed up until past 11: 30 the previous night but then rose with the worms that morning. Even zombie-children need more than six hours of sleep. THIS I KNOW.
Alexis knew it, too. She even managed to apologize for being a grumpy butt a few times, amazing me with her maturity and self-awareness. Of course, it didn't stop her from whining and ripping a head or two off moments later, but whatever. She tries.
As I was about to give up on trying to enjoy the flowers between moments of having to jump off the tracks so I wasn't hit by the incoming roller coaster of a grumpy kid, loud music began to cut through the air. It came from a man standing in the center of the complex, beating loudly on what looked like a metal bowl. The steelpan clanged with crystal clear notes reminiscent of the Caribbean, bringing a jolt of summer to the middle of a cold winter day.
Alexis, of course, grabbed my hand and drug me towards the music. We stood there . . . and stood there . . . and stood there, She Of Much Grump suddenly transfixed and taken to a happier place. She watched as other kids took a turn at making whimsical music.
She stood transfixed as a little boy let the music creep into his soul and began to dance.
She stood transfixed as the man took back the reigns and composed a perfect rendition of the Super Mario Brothers theme.
She didn't want to join in. She didn't want to dance. She just wanted to be.
Sometimes it's good to just be.