Lilacs, Boba Fett, and Never Getting What I Truly Want
Sometimes all I can do is go for a walk.
“I want to show you something.”
Stepping from the shadows of centuries-old government buildings, we cross into sunlight. Vibrant green grass of the adjacent park replaces the cold gray cement. I don’t know if my mom notices, her gaze locked on Teatro Colon (Colon Theater), its elegant stone columns and ornate relief sculptures. She takes in the bronze statues of historical figures we don’t know, chuckling at the one with a pigeon sitting atop its head.
I motion to an unassuming building, away from the history of government and the prestige of performance. A slender, white stone building, with a single, black door in the middle, offset by circular windows on each side. The door and windows repeat for the next five stories until the elegant construction concludes in a curved peak. Modern buildings of all glass bookend the white and black tower, squeezing against it; as if I returned in a decade the building would be taller and thinner.
“This is my favorite building in the city,” I tell my mom. “It reminds me of the 101 Dalmations house.”
She laughs and agrees. I don’t know if she sees what I see, though it doesn’t matter. I have less than two weeks a year with my mom. I like to hear…
