Why are we waiting with no stoplight?
“There’s a stoplight; it’s right there.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“That’s OK. Sometimes we don’t see things, but they’re still there. Like God.”
“We don’t see God, but God is still there. Like the wind. You feel it on your face, but you can’t see it. But it’s still there. Or the love mommy and daddy have for you. You can’t see it, but it is still there. Right?“
You nodded silently.
The light turned green and I drove away.
“More lights from the aggatt.”
We were driving through the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights.
“We need more lights from the aggatt,” you said again.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you said,” I replied.
When we got inside, I asked again, “what did you say in the car?”
I watched you think, a forgotten cracker still clutched in your little hand.
Slowly and carefully, you said, “The… aggate.”
I shook my head.
“Come,” you said, as you turned and walked away.
I followed you up the stairs and you pointed at the ceiling.
You were pointing at the attic.