Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Twenty-Seven
Work-from-home Friday.
I can breathe.
Decaf. A few moments of quiet on the deck as the sun rises.
We remember not to take that trail. The path is wide and uneven, rocky. You begin by immediately walking up a steep hill. I am not as out of breath as last time. I tell her I’ve been walking almost every day now. Up to 2 miles most days. After work or whenever I can squeeze it in.
Camarones al Mojo de Ajo.
We chat about nothing and everything, and that is what helps the days go by.
One day, I will miss the smell of her mass-produced teenage-scented candles.
As we make our way over Howell Mountain and into Pope Valley, I think of the upcoming season and the impending bus rides.
I hate this place.
He gets in the car, and he does more than sigh. He talks. He says the coach said he’s looking forward to seeing him grow over the next few years.
