"Are you a dancer, sweetheart?" the sweet voice cut through Alexis' focus.
"Yeah!" she said as she looked up and met the gaze of a tiny old woman who wasn't much taller than the 7-year old with the loopy brown curls.
It wasn't as much of a psychic moment as it was an observation. Alexis had been enveloped in her own world while she waited for me to try to pick out a fruit bowl, her feet carefully turned into second position as she crafted choreography to music only she could hear.
"Do you like ballet?" the woman asked.
Alexis' eyes grew big as she considered the question. "Yes!" she replied. "How did you know?" she continued, the suspicion weighing heavy in her mind.
The old woman and I shared a knowing glance before she turned her attention back to the little girl who stood between us. "I used to be a dancer myself," she replied with a hint of mystery rolling through her words.
Alexis and the old woman went back and forth for a few moments, each professing an adoration for motion matched to music. The dancer with the most experience wove a tale of performing on stage and even touring as part of a dance troupe. Alexis was mesmerized as she listened, her mouth agape and her eyes wide.
"Guess what," the woman who I wish was my grandmother said. "I even met my husband because I am a dancer!"
Her verb choice made me grin from ear-to-ear. Am a dancer. Not was. Am.
Alexis was intrigued. She asked questions and listened intently and at the end of it all, we knew much of the woman's story. We knew her husband's name was Frank and we knew they were married for 63 years when he passed and we knew that she misses him every single day, but he's still with her in her heart.
And in her locket.
The woman with the lovely purple sweater bent over just a bit to show Alexis a tiny little photograph of her beloved Frank. It was nestled inside a tiny little heart locket. The locket was worn smooth from years of tentative fingers and love. Frank loved hot chocolate and books about mysteries and he never missed a single one of their daughter's dance performances.
Just as the old woman began to weave the tale of the daughter, she appeared before us. "Mom," the woman who was a bit older than me said. "Are you ready?"
"I am," the old woman replied. With a smile and a nod, she turned and walked away, leaving two younger women in her wake. We were both in absolute awe.
Alexis and I walked into Homegoods in search of a fruit bowl, but we walked out with something much better.
