Game day. Red-and-white-hair-tie-day.

He gets into the driver’s seat, checks his mirror, connects his phone to the Bluetooth. I look off in the distance and see the hot air balloons sitting low on the horizon.

Not as scary as I thought it would be. I do my work emails and basketball posts while he drives.

Success.

We talk about possibilities, where we feel expansion, about reframing our relationships with time, about the magic connections we can have with teenagers, about meaningful work.

In the note, she says that she thinks I’m an interesting person. It makes me smile. I lean my head against the window and listen to the rain.

No energy. They have no energy in their face.

1-1.

Chicken tenders and sweet potato fries, a vanilla milkshake with rainbow sprinkles.

The audacity of his text message after all of that.