We sit on the canvas-enclosed deck under a glowing outdoor heater and watch the world around us, $1 Yuenglings in hand. We watch the man in the white apron spin pizza dough and girls – but they can’t be drunk already! – start impromptu Karaoke to bad music and we laugh again at how easily entertained we are.
And when we get to Walmart our grocery list is long and the cashier is struggles to work the register when I price-match five pounds of ground beef and she charges me twice for the litter and we stop by customer service on the way out. He mutters threats dark under his breath when we pass a skinny girl staggering with the weight of a baby in his car seat and the man-boy wandering aimlessly behind. “He needs that seat welded to his hand, to be told ‘you carry this, always,'” he says.
And Saturday the sun is warm and I walk the eight blocks home from work after a busy morning and he’s pulled all the leaves that I mulched the flower beds with out onto a tarp and now we both laugh, because I have to put them back and we’re running in circles making jobs for each other by accident.
Vesper chases the broom when I sweep. Alaska falls asleep in a suitcase under the bed, where I can’t find her until I think like a ferret.
And Sunday the sunshine turns to rain, cold and steady, and we find the antennas work in the front window and he watches football while I read and we sip weak toddies and he eats icing on crackers because I don’t feel like baking.
Vesper stands tall against the base of his shotgun while he cleans and oils the barrel, pink nose twitching at the smell, paws batting at the cloth. Alaska fights phantoms on the rug, and we laugh. The Steelers are losing in the background but I can’t find the last piece of the puzzle border and stay up too late looking for it.
And now it’s the Monday of a week full of classes and flashcards for him and board meetings and late-night writing for me. And the rain froze to ice on the car this morning but the sun rose pink and frosted in the east, and November’s half over. I won’t seem him at all today. Not much tomorrow, either.
But for the first time since the summer he had a weekend at home without books. And the sunshine and sleep and laughter and quiet fills my soul and I’ll be riding its peace ’till Friday comes around again.
But it doesn’t leave much to write about.