here’s what I remember.
i woke up on the playroom floor, curled around a tiger’s paw, the back of brigsby’s hand across my left shoulder. it was 7:22 and we were late. you must have fallen asleep on the couch waiting for me the night before; i leaned over you and said your name.
we drove there with the windows down, i did my makeup in the car and you sang. we forgot the stroller, but it was ok, you said. we followed the arrows past the crumbling houses and parked in a field. we took the trolley sitting knee to knee, each with a tiny boy on our lap.
rexley clung to me.
I immediately wanted wine, maybe a smoothie, and you were hungry. we found our friends in the back field, hundreds, thousands of blueberry bushes in either direction. brigsby held the bucket while we picked and tossed until we noticed everyone had wandered off. we followed them. we let rexley run, mud soaking in through his socks, leaving black streaks across my legs when he wanted to be held. the bucket was almost full before rex started eating them by the fistful, mouth and cheeks stained purple.
when it was time to head back, we didn’t really want to and you laughed when i admitted it.
you waited in line to pay and high school girls giggled and fawned. we bounced. we slid. we eventually drove home and I watched the hidden houses slide by, old and shambling, dark and perfect…and we thought maybe it would be nice to wake up there everyday. we thought it could be nice to stay.