Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Twenty-One
The first light creeping through the lacy curtains.
I don’t want to leave my friends. This is the first and only thing I am thinking when I open my eyes.
Salami and cheese and fruit for breakfast. Coffee with almond/oat creamer. Looking out at the sky waiting for the fog to back off so I can see the water.
We squeeze out another thirty minutes before check-out. Goodbye, Dolphin House.
One last meal by the water: open-face BLT with sweet, blood-red tomatoes. French fries. Laughter. A few bites of an apple crisp.
She says she’s not feeling well and that her one friend has Covid. Here we go again.
I head straight to the scissors and the bathroom to begin my hair. It is an excuse for extended quiet time. For more time to process and think and breathe.
It’s as if every single thought is trying to squeeze itself into a tiny rectangle right in the front of my brain where it wants to be seen and felt all of the time.
I miss my friends.
A million gratitudes for all that is and all that wants to be.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Twenty
Not ready yet.
Someone is already making coffee. I cut up the strawberries and fill my bowl with fruit. I stare out at the gray misty skies and wonder if we will be blessed by sunshine again.
Feelings that I can’t describe.
I try to make the words come, but they don’t. It’s okay. The words coming from their mouths are more important anyway.
A love/hate relationship with Highway 1.
I keep taking pictures even though I know there is no way I will be able to capture what my eye sees: the color of the water, the way the fog hugs the bluffs, the pelicans, the seaweed churning.
A warm ham and cheese sandwich, greens, tomato soup - the best meal of the weekend.
We keep walking.
He says it will only take 10 minutes. I do not believe him.
She lights candles and brings them to the table. We eat our chips and salsa and tacos, drink our Joel Gott Sauvignon Blanc by candlelight.
I just want to be soft.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Nineteen
Early to rise.
I am awake. I am here. I am so glad I am here with them.
Trying to find the ocean through the clouds.
I make a list of all the things I think I used to be that I want to be again.
The playlist is upbeat but also relaxing. I keep my eyes open, stare up at the ceiling, stare out at the ocean.
Oysters.
The sun. I tell them that yesterday, on my drive up, I decided to manifest some sunshine. There will be sun on this trip. And here it is.
Bathrooms with no sinks. Hot sand. Hot sun. The sounds and smells of the ocean. I don’t think this will ever get old.
I am tired, but I am thinking about how much I will miss this.
I start to close the window, and something jumps through the cracks right as I begin to close it. A small tree frog. I call to her for help, get a glass to try and trap him. He is fast. I cannot sleep if we do not find him.
Can I stop time?
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Eighteen
Today is the day. I am already counting down.
The universe has a way of sending you signs. The more they are repeated, the more you must listen.
I want more. And more.
Move past the pleasantries. Get the thing done.
On her playlist: Tame Impala, Kanye, The Smiths.
I stand in the street and jump up and down. We are here. We are here together.
We are not good navigators but we’ve made it over the dunes to the ocean. There is no one here but us.
Danucci’s. 4.5 stars. The place you go when it’s time to celebrate a birthday. I ask her how long she thinks it’s been since the merch cabinet has been opened.
Maybe I am just more confused.
An awakening.
The tears will come at some point.
I am wherever you are.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventeen
I hear footsteps, but it’s dark. They are small feet. Who is in here?
No sense in going back to sleep now.
Coffeecake from the box. The big one lumbers across the hall to our bathroom. He looks better, I think?
Late.
I don’t know anything, either.
“Everything under control?” I look them dead in the eye and say, “yes,” with a little bit of a chuckle. I’m not the one they should be worried about.
Today is going to be a long day.
I thought we had fixed this in 8th grade.
She calls because she has a sneaking suspicion that I’m being kept in the dark. She is right.
I begin to wonder if I’ve said too much, but then I think of how important it would have been for me to have had someone speak to me so honestly at that age.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixteen
Looks like a fire sky.
Coconut MCT.
Is too much daydreaming dangerous? It’s dangerous not to daydream at all.
Another sick day is not worth arguing about. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. I am more concerned about what others may think than what makes sense.
Nothing.
Essentially I tell him I’m going to give him the gift of time, but he’s probably not going to use it.
We all make eye contact. Did we all hear the same thing?
I tell her she might want to consider another training video.
He squirts lighter fluid over a pile of wood. People take turns using the extinguisher to put out the fire. We joke that it’s a no burn day. Didn’t I say it looked like fire in the sky.
Two more days.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifteen
Tuesday.
I found the frother.
He tells me he isn’t feeling well. I tell him to get in the shower. He tells me he threw up. I tell him to get in the shower. He tells us he’s still feeling bad. I tell him to get in the bed.
I call her as soon as I get into my office. We don’t have four hours, but we have enough time to make it meaningful.
They get me.
Like toy soldiers.
At least there is this to look forward to.
Familiar faces. Not enough time to talk between the bells. The setting sun. They say they are sweating from the air horn. We step in time. I am imagining things. I am not imagining things.
Two helpings of chicken pot pie.
“I'm waking up/I can feel it all/I'm waking up/I can breathe, I can love for you?/But I know that you want me too/I feel it burn/I feel it burn.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fourteen
Special delivery day.
No fog, just sun.
The gift of a few extra minutes, though he is missed.
I didn’t expect anything different.
Lies.
I tell her the day has gone by so quickly, too quickly. I’ve been counting too much time.
Hot.
We have come to the same conclusion: they aren’t worth the stress.
A wave of nervousness washing over me. Where has the confidence gone?
Now or never.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirteen
So tired.
Fully dressed but reading in bed.
Remembering left items: a trophy; a baking dish; sunglasses; two computers; four camping chairs; a cooler full of beer. At least it’s a short walk over.
But does she remember she invited us over for pizza?
Where’s season two?
Hot.
She wants all the things to make tofu soup.
She sends a picture of the four of them. He has on a button-up shirt. He must have bought that when they went thrifting. They are all smiling. it was a good idea, after all.
I go for a regular old pepperoni and cheese, and drink the Houndstooth 2016 Pinot Noir.
Tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Twelve
She texts to say she’s sick and needs to cancel. Secretly grateful.
But I can’t go back to sleep, so I lay in bed with my eyes closed, waiting to feel the light return.
Back to these late nights.
Already time to get him out the door and on our way.
The airport reminds me of KCI twenty years ago. Or Chattanooga today.
He gives us a noncommital wave with his back to us as he walks through security.
Hot.
I just want Patrick Mahomes.
Draft day. Ribs and tri-tip and sausage rolls and wings and pasta salads and salads and brownies and cookies. I wonder what the new guy thinks of us. Hopefully, all good things.
Oh shoot, it’s already after midnight.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Eleven
Work-from-home Friday.
Sometimes, I feel a little guilty about it.
He forgot the syllabus.
Coffee with the principal. I think the theme of the morning is “refreshing.”
What in the world is going on here?
He forgot his socks.
No, she wasn’t joking.
I had forgotten about the late afternoon sun and these metal bleachers and the unrelenting heat.
Freaking out.
It’s going to be a fun season.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ten
Thursday.
Can tell it’s going to be a warm day. Something about the clarity of this morning’s sky.
At least it will be a fun day. There is that. I am grateful for that.
Learn something new each time we do one of these.
Staring out across the vineyard. Eating grapes off the vine. Standing in the shade as the breeze comes through and the neighbor’s dog barks. Right where I want to be.
Maybe this is the right moment to reign the conversation in.
If one of our worst attributes is telling too much truth, then I’m okay with that.
She tells me she thinks I would be good at running these with them. I don’t disagree. I tell her that we tried to make it work.
Nurse Ratched gives him a lobotomy.
Wait. A whole two hours alone in the house. I listen to the school board meeting while I clean the bathrooms.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Nine
Wednesday whites.
He asks for blueberry muffins. Insists that I have enough time to make them. I line the muffin tin and begin.
Reclaiming my time.
They bring out a mariachi band as a surprise.
Sandwiches and truthtelling and laughter.
Research and development.
Always waiting.
I listen to her talk about the flowers, and how she wants to hug the bees, and how the rock is a good place for eating a snack.
Watching the last few minutes of football practice while sitting in an air-conditioned car.
Not in a hurry, but ready.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seven
Attention.
Green juice and a sweet apple with creamy peanut butter.
Caged.
Of course, we’re moving the meeting again. Nothing surprising here.
Harvest toast. A little champagne in the sun is a good way to start the day.
Snack cabinet.
“Nothing from me today.” I’ve never had to say that so many times.
I really should be going, but I feel like I can’t, and that is a problem.
At least I have her.
These evenings at the table. Pure gold.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Six
Monday.
Work-from-home Monday.
I dress slowly, make the coffee slowly, cut up my apple slowly.
Is it silly that I still want to drop them off and pick them up every day? I say that I can’t wait until he can drive himself - drive all of them. But that probably won’t be true when the time actually comes.
Everyone keeps asking me how the school year is going and I’m afraid to say how it really is because I don’t want to jinx it.
Small, tedious things.
I tell her that I think I’m the kind of person who needs a lot to do in order to be productive. I am too bored.
A cooler night for practice.
7:00 p.m. is the new dinner time.
At some point, it has to stop.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Five
Slow Sunday.
I lay in bed and make the meal plan, the grocery list. Determined to eat a real meal every evening this week.
Too early for the Sunday Scaries.
You can feel the next transition in the air. You can tell by the color of the light.
I tell her that I think I need a nap. I’ve had too many late nights in a row.
Samosas and old seasons of Ru Paul’s Drag Race.
I tell her that if she’s in the gifting mood, I’ll take another large Lego set. I need something to do.
Pizza next door. We’re told to bring nothing, but I carry a vase of flowers through the door.
If only this were a Saturday night.
Tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Four
Meant to turn the alarm off.
Slivers of golden light filling the room.
Weak. But this arm has been trouble lately, so I’m not surprised.
This is not an estate sale. This is not a garage sale. So very disappointing.
Four copies of The Phantom Tollbooth. Pandemic buy.
Schedules and times and spreadsheets. Order today, ease tomorrow.
Black dress. Need heels.
I choose a bottle of 2022 Orixe Sotela Nebola. He asks me how last weekend’s dinner went. I tell him I’m on my way to another one.
What a really small world.
The stars in these skies.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Three
Friday. For real.
Water, water, water.
I talk myself through all of the hypotheticals. I could be overthinking it. I could be not thinking enough. I might be paranoid. I might be spot on.
Sweating.
Two hours and ten minutes.
Weirder and weirder.
Compressed melon salad with prosciutto and gazpacho and picpoul.
The pressure, the pressure. Sweating.
Flip-flops on turf are probably not a great idea.
I watch the colors of the sky change as the minutes tick down on the clock. Back to Friday night lights. Everything is different, and yet it all still feels the same.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Two
Thursday. Almost like a Friday.
A list of gratitudes to push away the worries.
Arrival routine: Carry bags upstairs; turn on the computer; take refillable cups downstairs - one for water and one for the newly-appreciated decaffeinated green tea; come back upstairs and make your list of to-dos and meetings; scan emails; wait for her call or call her and begin your day with some laughter.
Water, water, water.
Weirder and weirder.
At least, maybe, I might be excited about something again.
He laughs at us for wearing sweaters in our office when it’s 100 degrees outside.
I tell her that I know how to keep a secret. She says she knows.
They share a thought. I tell them I thought the same thing. I’m glad it wasn’t my imagination.
Football Family Cookout. It’s going to be a fun year.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & One
In the dream, they are at my front door crying, sobbing, telling me that their father has died and they do not know what to do.
Thursday.
I deliver the book to her door and pick up the one she left for me. Isn’t this a treat?
I tell her that so far, everything is going so well. They all sit next to one another without any complaint. Everything is so good. I don’t want to jinx it.
Whoa, wait. What?
Exactly the same as every other time.
What. A. Mess.
He says he will not forget us.
We eat cupcakes and drink champagne and describe our favorite episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” This was a good idea.
At least we have each other.