In Swedish, the Word for Trust is a Palindrome by Per Olvmyr
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he says.
And I do as I am told, because I’m a parent. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and wait. Everything is dark and I can hear my son breathing, close to me, while my senses prepare themselves.
I have no idea what he’s going to come up with, near my face.
I hear him closer. His breathing is just as excited as it should be for a four-year-old.
A door opens between us. I like how he climbs on my legs, my body. Everything in his life is so carefree, as if I were a daddy mountain that he could climb as much as he wants.
I don’t even need to peek.
In Swedish the word “trust”, tillit, is a palindrome, which is also what trust is about. To trust someone else.
Some days ago I got something wet, salty and chewy in my mouth. Another time it was hard, plastic. It tasted like nothing.
A third time it tasted earthy and dry. Facing the unknown, what can you
do, other than hope for the best?
Sometimes a dad’s job is to close his eyes and open his mouth, while his son drops things into his mouth. Lego pieces, potting soil, candies, olives, sugar cubes, grapes.
And here he comes.
His little hand is clenched, his warm breath against my face. But then I can’t help but peek.
Now I am a father who peeks, even though I shouldn’t. And I hope that he won’t notice. Because when I’m asked to close my eyes, he wants me to do just that and not cheat.
But I peek.
His palindrome smile reveals everything.
When he drops what he has in his hand into my mouth, I first feel it with my tongue. It doesn’t taste like anything yet and I gently press my teeth against it. He giggles and I open my eyes.
When I bite, it explodes in my mouth.
It tastes of summer, sunshine and chlorophyll. Of plants and green grass. Of allotments and growing crops.
I make a face. My face close to his. We’re very close to each other and now we’re both smiling.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he says, once again.
And I let him decide everything in our little play once more. I close my eyes and open my mouth.
Author's Note:
I like to go to my favourite cafe, to order, look at, and eventually drink a nice cappuccino. There is something really soothing with all the layers and nice patterns. The cappuccino becomes an inverted Richard Brautigan hat. And then the taste. That's where I find my home. That's where my writing about sugar cubes, buttons, toothpicks and other charming, insignificant things, starts.
Per Olvmyr lives in Malmö, Sweden, and has been published by Moonpark review, Gone Lawn and other magazines. His work was nominated for best small fiction, best of the net and longlisted for the Wigleaf Top 50. He can be found in parks engaged in conversations with Basset Hounds.
Comments