“It seems to me that I’ve been traveling in reverse.”
———Anne Tyler
——--Back When We Were Grownups
Periodically, my husband and I watch Monsters, Inc. Sully is my hero, an antidote to the nightmares I was born into, a big snuggly cure for the monsters in the closet on East 15th Street.
At a craft show, I met an artist who custom-painted designs on sneakers. Her table displayed tiny toddler sneakers painted with Disney characters. The Little Mermaid was hot at the time. After a lot of oohing and aahing, I asked if she could paint Sully for my grown-up feet.
I splurged on white leather Nikes and via texted pics from the artist, watched their transformation. She painted the shoes turquoise, Sully on the toes, grinning up at me.
Sully does cardio. I walk the track at the YMCA in my turquoise kicks. Even though I pull up the hood on my turquoise hoodie to fend off the draft, I can see the other walkers smile at my shoes. Sully makes everybody happy.
I needed more.
Sully guards the house. I discovered a plush Sully at Disney dot com, way too expensive. I didn’t care. My blue buddy now sits on a shelf by the front door, just daring any monster to even try to come through the coat closet. He’s the first thing I see in the morning when I wander downstairs bleary-eyed. Last thing I see before I go upstairs to bed.
Sully washes my car. I hold the equivalent of a season ticket to Kevin’s Car Wash, where I play out my OCD, as Bob Marley blasts on the overhead. Picture me q-tipping a.c. vents while busting senior citizen moves to “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright.”
Last year, the monsters from East 15th relocated to Kevin’s. Whenever I thought about washing my car, I panicked. I could not get myself to drive through that tunnel.
Where therapy, meditation, and dammit what’s wrong with me proved useless, Sully to the rescue.
Now, as the conveyor belt pulls the Honda through the monster-hiding car wash tunnel, Sully sits on my lap. We hold hands, our voices overtaken by a Jamaican lilt.
“…singin’ don’t worry, about a ting, ’cause every little ting….”
I came into the world cowering, as though I’d already suffered a lifetime of the terror awaiting me.
Thanks to Sully, I’ll depart the world younger than the day I was born.
———Anne Tyler
——--Back When We Were Grownups
Periodically, my husband and I watch Monsters, Inc. Sully is my hero, an antidote to the nightmares I was born into, a big snuggly cure for the monsters in the closet on East 15th Street.
At a craft show, I met an artist who custom-painted designs on sneakers. Her table displayed tiny toddler sneakers painted with Disney characters. The Little Mermaid was hot at the time. After a lot of oohing and aahing, I asked if she could paint Sully for my grown-up feet.
I splurged on white leather Nikes and via texted pics from the artist, watched their transformation. She painted the shoes turquoise, Sully on the toes, grinning up at me.
Sully does cardio. I walk the track at the YMCA in my turquoise kicks. Even though I pull up the hood on my turquoise hoodie to fend off the draft, I can see the other walkers smile at my shoes. Sully makes everybody happy.
I needed more.
Sully guards the house. I discovered a plush Sully at Disney dot com, way too expensive. I didn’t care. My blue buddy now sits on a shelf by the front door, just daring any monster to even try to come through the coat closet. He’s the first thing I see in the morning when I wander downstairs bleary-eyed. Last thing I see before I go upstairs to bed.
Sully washes my car. I hold the equivalent of a season ticket to Kevin’s Car Wash, where I play out my OCD, as Bob Marley blasts on the overhead. Picture me q-tipping a.c. vents while busting senior citizen moves to “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright.”
Last year, the monsters from East 15th relocated to Kevin’s. Whenever I thought about washing my car, I panicked. I could not get myself to drive through that tunnel.
Where therapy, meditation, and dammit what’s wrong with me proved useless, Sully to the rescue.
Now, as the conveyor belt pulls the Honda through the monster-hiding car wash tunnel, Sully sits on my lap. We hold hands, our voices overtaken by a Jamaican lilt.
“…singin’ don’t worry, about a ting, ’cause every little ting….”
I came into the world cowering, as though I’d already suffered a lifetime of the terror awaiting me.
Thanks to Sully, I’ll depart the world younger than the day I was born.
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