if shame had a face I think it would look like yours

Paisley My Sky Glynn Sharpe

Paisley slept most of the way there, her chin spilling over onto her jumper in white waves of flesh. I watched her in the rear view mirror as the trees rolled by, silently and unchanging.
My parents were waiting at the front door for us as we pulled into the driveway. I could see their smiling, bobbing faces through the frost-scraped window. They were excited. It was Paisley's first visit.

I carried her in my arms into the kitchen. She was still asleep. My parents cooed quietly so that they wouldn't wake her. They were both eager to get a turn to hold her. As I gazed down at her, my mother said that I looked just like my father did when he used to hold me.

I didn't take my eyes off Paisley as I lifted her high above my head. I slowly turned with her in my outstretched arms, and I could hear my parents' muffled protests. They sounded as if they were a world away from the two of us. Paisley's eyes burst open and met mine. The blades of the ceiling fan just above her head floated slowly like wooden clouds. It was in that instant that I knew that everything would be different for her. She smiled and her face erupted into creases and pink gums. A thread of spittle slipped from her mouth, held there, and fell toward my face like a liquid diamond. It landed above my lip and I felt it with my tongue. It tasted like trust.