Anchor

"Hold out your hand," said Cheeky, "And close your eyes!"

I knew what was coming and felt a gulp of guilt. I was a little tired of the game, not that it mattered; it wasn't hurting anybody. So I held out my hand like I always did and scrunched my eyes shut in the over-obvious way you do with children. 

My big sister never quite grew all the way up. Her hair was a nest of dark curls piled on top of her head, and this morning, her favorite worn-thin Super Cone t-shirt was on its third day. She hovered in some in-between world, somewhere between ours and another realm we could never really know.

Occasionally, we caught glimpses of it in the glint of her eye, the lean of her head, or the sudden defensive gauntlets she'd throw up with criss-crossed arms, a pose protecting us from nefarious unseen forces. But she never revealed this hidden place with any clarity. I don’t think she could. Her attention was fleeting, and she lived exclusively in the present. Every interaction and observation was a new thing. She was always so excited, so I always played along.

She dropped the rock into my palm, and I closed my fist around it, eyes shut, "Should I guess what it is?" I asked her because this was part of how we played.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she squealed, "What do you think it is?"

"Well, it feels smooth and round—maybe it's an eyeball?" I offered.

"Nope! Not an eyeball," she giggled, "Guess again, guess again."

I tried again, "Hrm, okay, it feels heavy and hard, so maybe—it's a diamond?" 

"Ack No! But you're getting closer," she squirmed.

"It feels small but important," I said whispering, leaning in, "Is it something strong and powerful?"

"Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes—it is, it is!" she tried to whisper back, the S's whistling through her teeth.

"Let's see what it is," I said, slowly uncurling my fingers one by one.

"It's a rock," she blurted, "it's for you!"

"I love it, Cheeky, thank you. I will put it in the jar with my other rocks," I told her like I always did.

She looked at me, but also kind of through me, "One day we'll have enough," she said.

"Enough for what?" I asked.

"Enough to weigh us down," she said.

"Why? Are we drifting away somewhere Cheeky?"

"Not yet, but you know—someday," she said spiralling her finger up in the air.

We stopped at the park on the way home and blew dandelion seeds into the wind, watching them fly up and disappear into the white eye of the sun.