serenading
the forecast here is exhausting. every morning i check, and then throughout the day i check semi-compulsively the 10-day forecast, and then i sigh audibly each time when not a 6 appears. no 6. 4s and 5s and even 3s in the nights. no 6s. just low 5s. not even between a 5 and a 6. it's friday and if there'd just be a little 6 on weather.com, we could all lay in the park and do something frivolous. and be pretty damn happy.
the last day of 6s [and 7s!] i remember clearly, on that very good bad day. i didn't want to face it, but the weather was so so gorgeous it was quite a helping hand. the sheets were red with the imprint of my tattoo. you went out onto the balcony, and until i joined you, i didn't know the weather was so perfect. i stood beside you for a while, but the warmth--or the something, something like warmth--was too much to handle. it felt like standing on the edge a cliff and peering downward. my stomach hurt. we did everything slowly; i doted upon every moment. i remember all the music we listened to that day. i remember lunch: how i took too long to decide, the way my soup tasted, the old man you wanted to become, the cartoon character t-shirt, the dr. seuss lady, the temperature of the drinking water, the clink of the silverware, the sound of the espresso machine and the juicer, where i put my purse under the table, the way you barely looked at me; how we ignored the inevitable, pretending that the day was just another. i remember driving east, and slowly, and finally stopping in that baby little town; you making me stand outside of the car. i remember everything about the dog chained up there and how many clouds were in the sky and exactly what the gravel felt like under my feet. i remember the "watch your step!" all the time, the button lady, the cast-iron banks, the photos, the old baking supplies. i remember standing close, how long i took to decide on a button and stopping for moments in that side room. the drive further east was even slower. my stomach dropped when we turned down the street. i remember how the grass felt under my feet and exactly how the sun shone into the front room, the cats, the couch, your things piled up in the corner. we moved slowly, and i left quickly. i didn't look back to see if you were watching.
the last day of 6s [and 7s!] i remember clearly, on that very good bad day. i didn't want to face it, but the weather was so so gorgeous it was quite a helping hand. the sheets were red with the imprint of my tattoo. you went out onto the balcony, and until i joined you, i didn't know the weather was so perfect. i stood beside you for a while, but the warmth--or the something, something like warmth--was too much to handle. it felt like standing on the edge a cliff and peering downward. my stomach hurt. we did everything slowly; i doted upon every moment. i remember all the music we listened to that day. i remember lunch: how i took too long to decide, the way my soup tasted, the old man you wanted to become, the cartoon character t-shirt, the dr. seuss lady, the temperature of the drinking water, the clink of the silverware, the sound of the espresso machine and the juicer, where i put my purse under the table, the way you barely looked at me; how we ignored the inevitable, pretending that the day was just another. i remember driving east, and slowly, and finally stopping in that baby little town; you making me stand outside of the car. i remember everything about the dog chained up there and how many clouds were in the sky and exactly what the gravel felt like under my feet. i remember the "watch your step!" all the time, the button lady, the cast-iron banks, the photos, the old baking supplies. i remember standing close, how long i took to decide on a button and stopping for moments in that side room. the drive further east was even slower. my stomach dropped when we turned down the street. i remember how the grass felt under my feet and exactly how the sun shone into the front room, the cats, the couch, your things piled up in the corner. we moved slowly, and i left quickly. i didn't look back to see if you were watching.
posted by margaret @ 9:11 AM
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