Cancer Frags/Pirate

Cancer Frags

Life on the outside

Pirate
"Mom! Mom! I just saw a pirate! Mom! Mom look there’s a PIRATE!"

Here’s the thing. The pirate is me. This little boy doesn’t understand that I hear him, and see him for that matter. We—that is, he, his mother, several other strangers and I—are waiting on the same corner for the light to change. I've seen this before. I wait for what I know will happen next.

Over her shoulder his mother takes a peek at me, and bends quickly to speak to her son in a hush. She sees an opportunity to teach a lesson about the halt and the lame. How I wish she would think to engage me, as her child does. But she is too old for that now, I suppose. I smile at the little boy, whose eyes never leave my face, and I wave a little. Maybe I wink—or a wink is what I intend. As the mother whispers on, I have a moment to wonder, existentially, what might be the word for a one-eyed wink. But the black patch is way cool. Any kid can see that.

Okay, so the wink is for me. But the little boy is looking at me as though some half-imagined, virtual cyber-guy had just called him by name. Suddenly everything snaps into focus for him, and voilà—we’ve surprised one another. We’ve shared a secret for a couple of extraordinary minutes on an ordinary day. I’m not just a pirate. I’m his pirate. His very own pirate.

My conscience stirs, reminding me that I am a stranger, and I owe the mother some sort of assurance. Instead they hurry on ahead of me, and I let them. If the kid looks back with light in his eyes, we’re golden. In the moment that I watch for it to happen, I realize that this is one genuine pleasure of my new life as a one-eyed woman.

And every day I thank God that they didn’t have to take my nose.

—K.E.Watt, Brooklyn, NY

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	Cancer Frags Life on the outside Pirate "Mom! Mom! I just saw a pirate! Mom! Mom look there’s a PIRATE!" Here’s the thing. The pirate is me. This little boy doesn’t understand that I hear him, and see him for that matter. We—that is, he, his mother, several other strangers and I—are waiting on the same corner for the light to change. I've seen this before. I wait for what I know will happen next. Over her shoulder his mother takes a peek at me, and bends quickly to speak to her son in a hush. She sees an opportunity to teach a lesson about the halt and the lame. How I wish she would think to engage me, as her child does. But she is too old for that now, I suppose. I smile at the little boy, whose eyes never leave my face, and I wave a little. Maybe I wink—or a wink is what I intend. As the mother whispers on, I have a moment to wonder, existentially, what might be the word for a one-eyed wink. But the black patch is way cool. Any kid can see that. Okay, so the wink is for me. But the little boy is looking at me as though some half-imagined, virtual cyber-guy had just called him by name. Suddenly everything snaps into focus for him, and voilà—we’ve surprised one another. We’ve shared a secret for a couple of extraordinary minutes on an ordinary day. I’m not just a pirate. I’m his pirate. His very own pirate. My conscience stirs, reminding me that I am a stranger, and I owe the mother some sort of assurance. Instead they hurry on ahead of me, and I let them. If the kid looks back with light in his eyes, we’re golden. In the moment that I watch for it to happen, I realize that this is one genuine pleasure of my new life as a one-eyed woman. And every day I thank God that they didn’t have to take my nose. —K.E.Watt, Brooklyn, NY © 2003, K. E. WATT. All rights reserved.
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