There it was, amid the chaos, a moment of pure joy

Karina Bland is off this week. This was adapted from a story told originally at an azcentral Storytellers event. It is the third of four parts.

We were at the Tempe Arts Festival, 16 shopping days before Christmas. We huddled as women shopping in groups do, waiting for Karen and Sophia. I watched a couple walking a golden retriever in one direction on Fifth Street. The dog wore a harness with a patch on it that said, “service dog.”

From the other direction came a couple with a little girl in a wheelchair.

They all stopped there as if on cue; the dog sat.

The little girl had pale skin and dark hair with bangs. As the two sets of adults talked above her and as rivers of people moved by on either side, the girl reached out for the dog’s ear.

I watched, wary, afraid he might bite her. But the dog just leaned closer, big eyes on the little girl.

She raised both eyebrows at the dog, clearly delighted, and then pressed her forehead to the dog’s.

The girl was smiling; the dog seemed to smile, too.

It was just the two of them, this girl who seemed far too little to have to work out physical challenges, outside in the sun, the smell of cinnamon and sugar in the air, flanked by people who love her, and this dog, one among so many dogs that day, but somehow special.

Joy radiated from them, nose-to-nose in the middle of the street. And it washed over me, too, as I stood there with my purse, and my shopping bag, and my 22-people-to-go list.

In that moment, I realized how ridiculous it was that I was freaking out about buying presents and trying to impress people.

Karen and Sophia had caught up with us, but I couldn’t pull myself away.

I realized I was crying, and it surprised me because I was smiling, too. I turned to see my mother and Marianne push up their glasses and wipe away tears too. We smiled at each other, nodding. We got it.