Through one of two windows,
the kind of sunlight that only happens on a Sunday afternoon
shines on two girls eagerly cross-legged on the floor with their newest board game.
Their first time seeing Candy Land, they sit quietly,
eyes gazing over colors
that paint a new world echoing with laughter.
Unknown to them, Candy Land would inspire years of laughter
and make-believe, opening a window
to games with feelings and colors
that, from then on, every afternoon,
would replace the quiet.
They both knew that the best kind of games
were the games
that came out of laughter.
And so, whenever it got too quiet,
they remembered to open a window
and let the breath of the afternoon
breeze dance around them and inspire a made-up game full of vibrant colors.
And every single color
that was added to the girls' relationship through the games
filled every afternoon
with laughter
that floated out of the windows
and over the neighborhood, interrupting the peaceful quiet.
Often, though, the best moments between these two were the times when they quietly
sat next to each other, each coloring
in her own coloring book. And in such times, the window
that allowed for the made-up-and-dancing-around kind of games
that created the roll-on-the-floor-until-you-cry laughing
was shut. But the girls weren't worried, because they knew that the next afternoon,
like many afternoons
before, would be spent in quiet
anticipation for the moment they could both burst out laughing
in happiness that splattered colors
on the walls, playing games
and making colors so bright they reflected in the window.
The girls didn’t know it, but these afternoons kept the colors
of the quiet board game
from fading with the laughter it once brought, never closing the window of childhood.