brush stokes to keystrokes

It was that day in July when the weather was anything but July-like. The breeze was almost too cool, but hadn’t yet crossed the line. The sun was soon to set as I sat on the front, cement step. I had sat there before, but never for a long enough period of time to notice anything of interest really. I sipped on a lovely white wine in a beautiful wine glass – one I had sipped from many times before. The evening smelled like something homemade. Tears occasionally would fall from my face…the reason unknown to me. Exhaustion maybe. Or maybe I had finally reached that state of relaxation I had been pining for. The way the sun was hop-scotching through the trees and rooftops made the grass look like an intricate, patchwork quilt. The neighbor across the street was painting something, I think it was a door, but I was too far away to catch the color and too busy wrinkling my nose at her awful crocs (whose invention was terribly disappointing). Some punk kid mowed his neighbor’s lawn and then crossed the street to do his own. The old woman, who scarcely makes an appearance outside her home, came out to pay him for a job well done. He seemed polite enough. A tiny, white yippy dog meandered up and down the street but would only go so far either direction…kind of like there was an invisible fence set for him. A couple with a double stroller had to dodge his poop as they walked on the sidewalk, up the hill, underneath the old, wise trees. A guy with a worn, beaten truck stopped by the mailbox to deposit something, maybe a bill, then grabbed a football and some cleats from the bed of his truck. Headed to the park I bet, to play a game with some friends. There goes that damn dog again. If I close my eyes, the sparkle of the sun on them feels like time travel…I sip more wine and decide to go to Paris for a few minutes. Mom and dad leave for dinner with some friends and I twirl the braid in my hair. It’s falling out from the days’ activities. I smell cut grass and gasoline. There are lots of dogs barking in the background but I can only hear them if I concentrate.

As a mosquito gets me, I’m brought back to reality, wondering what time it is. I remembered myself as I was before and am reminded again of what I have to give to this whole other, precious human being. How do you keep a hold of who you were before – not lose her – and still give everything away?

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