it was just the two of us, back where it all started. the same stretch of beach from that summer five years ago, before jobs and kids and a white wedding dress. before houses and cars and a white picket fence. before stability tracked us down and held us hostage.
it was just the two of us, alone on our beach, watching the processional mirage of the last five years merge into what’s coming next…watching it all play out where the world dissolves into the sea, fades into the surf with the ghosts we left behind.
brigs painted for the first time this weekend, painted the ground and his arms and my face…the leaves and his shoes and sometimes on the paper I laid out in front of him. we framed them for the grandma’s for mother’s day gifts this year. on saturday he learned to play hide and seek. I was changing Rex, listening to B playing in the living room. and when I came out, I couldn’t find him. and I started to panic thinking he had gotten outside somehow…and right before I truly lost my mind, I saw 5 little fingers poking out from behind the curtains. and when I called his name, his whole body froze…and when I pulled back the curtain where he was hiding, he dissolved into a mess of giggles.
on mother’s day I just wanted, needed, a break. I needed to breathe. I needed for a few hours, to just not be a mother…a few hours to shake off the weight of that certain responsibility. it’ll crush you if you let it.
we were sitting out in the driveway the other night after dinner, throwing the basketball around, letting B get as filthy as possible before his bath. Rex was sleeping by the rosebush and my hands were covered in chalk, streaks of a dozen different colors leaving kaleidoscope fingerprints on everything I touched. The crickets were out, the sun was low, the air was heavy…and it felt like summer.
And then B came out of the garage with the skateboard Alex made for him around Christmas. I sat at the end of the driveway watching Alex teach him how to sit on it, how to roll down the driveway. I watched his hands as they caught him, as they hovered just close enough to keep him safe. He’d roll him down the driveway, I’d watch him laugh and shriek, eyes bright, until I caught him in my arms…and then he’d roll that little skateboard back up to Alex until eventually he could do it on his own.
of all the good weekends…there are few perfect ones. and when they come, they take you by surprise. and they bring with them a happiness so deep that your pores just open up to it, like flowers to the sun, engulfed in the light until there’s no longer blood coursing through your veins, but that white blinding happiness and it keeps your heart beating and your cheeks warm.
we taught b how to skimboard at the same beach we’ve been going to since the day we started dating. it was just us…sand for miles, water for days, and no one else to hear his laughter, his shrieking perfect laughter. bubble baths and dinner and best friends. open windows, weather that just reached out and ran it’s fingers through your hair. cheap sunglasses and burning candles, boys and softball and movies on the couch. chili and ice cream, dinner grilled late at night. sleeping in and breakfast waiting, back scratches and a baby’s arms wrapped around you tight.
a long long drive. cats underfoot. palm trees swaying. coconuts floating. moon jellies pulsing. tiny crabs hiding. rain falling, steam rising. thrift shops and lunch dates, a woman with no pants. gourmet dinners, cucumber martinis. poker for hours, sitting outside in the dark. dolphins chasing, baby sleeping. kayaks and sharks, stories to tell. tapestries and stained glass. baby in bed, hands on happy cheeks. falling asleep watching harry potter, waiting for the rain to stop.
tres amigos. immortal father. dover wedding. shimmering neglige. lace bodice. striped tie. tiny gnome. fountain of youth. bag of beer. ostrich plumes. frozen mugs. little love notes. insane clown posse. wallaby dang. red rose inn. southern glory. run down glamour. fiber optic stars. bubbles in glasses. cake in spoons. dancing and spinning. tuxedo shirts. babies holding hands. cemeteries and gas stations. long drive home. baby guinness. board games and gypsies. rainbows in water.
irresponsible weekend. beachcomber. beach bar. alamo. boys. cards. paper rock scissors. curtains in the breeze. lomography. uncle little kevin. uncle juanito. uncle jerbear. margaritas. daiquiri daiquiris. walking in fountains. cheerleader flips. sunburnt shoulders. spitting contests. broken wrist. 80′s band. mahi mahi. bleeding noses. late night swimming. exploding bathrooms. drunken debutantes. bottle of rum. sitting in sand. star gazing. black water. barnacles. shells. margaritas. cartwheels at midnight. undercover strangers. running. lost rings. boardwalk. diana. teddy grahams. drivethru. mansions. dolphins. sleeping. driving. laughing. last man standing. racing back to my waiting baby, as fast as I could fly. snuggling. cook out. chocolate chip cookies. mexican soda. mystery seeds. long walks. watermelon. swamp people.
Friday night we sat outside for hours, boys in the pool, pups in the grass. Saturday I took a trip to see the gypsy, with gifts to bestow upon my little babe. Sunday we drove long and far to sweetfield, wandered through the sunflower labyrinth, lost in the flowers among the butterflies and fat honey bees, dripping sweetness. the sky was black then gold then black again, the breeze shook yellow petals onto our feet, treading softly. steam curled out from the ground, filtered through the flowers, through our fingers, through our hair. a fat man in a lavender polo mocked me, words hanging in the air between us like dead birds. we ate our hamburgers at a picnic table under the mossy tree, tin foil glinting in the sunlight.
he eventually just stopped opening his mouth all together. So then I’d make him laugh. And when he was laughing, I crammed the green beans in his mouth. And he ate them. And then he got sad. And his eyesbrows crinkled and he looked at me with teary little puppy dog eyes.
