the story of the wooden puppet who lets the naughty boys influence him to smoke. It makes me laugh, thinking that I can even smoke if I want. If I feel like a stupid child, then Anne is a like a naughty one. I want to be influenced by her. When I tell her, she laughs.
“I don’t think you should take up smoking, just sex,” she says.
She’s serious about wanting to meet Sal, so I write down his handle, the name he goes by on datesforall.com . In exchange she writes down the handle of three guys she thinks are too straight-laced, guys she thinks I might like, but I refuse to take the paper. “I think I want to meet guys somewhere in between,” I explain, and I really mean it. I promise myself that in the morning I’m going to think about everything she’s said; in the morning when my head is clear.
Emptying her glass of its final sip, Anne announces that she has to work in the morning, a twelve- hour shift. We’re both a bit wobbly when we stand, and I’m glad we walked downtown from my apartment. It seemed like a long walk coming, but Anne insisted. I’m glad now because the fresh air feels wonderful and neither of us has any right behind the wheel of any car.
We walk in silence, the heels of our shoes clickity-clacking on the sidewalk, a cadence to feed my thoughts. I shiver ever so slightly in the cool night air as I remember the feeling of being in love, how familiar Alex felt to me, and how right I always felt walking with him, my smaller hand tucked securely into the gentle pressure of his grasp. I breathe deeply, taking in the coolness, breathing out the breath of purple wine. The street light glows lighting our way, and sadness settles, but not too deep, as I swing my arms, my hands free of Alex’s touch.
When we get to my apartment where Anne’s Toyota is parked, she says she’s refreshed and clear-headed, safe to drive home. Hearing it makes me think about my parents and their car accident, and then about Jared.
“Have you heard anything more about how Jared is doing since he’s been discharged?” I ask.
“He just went home the other day, but Dr. Matthews has already made a couple home visit. He said he thinks Jared is getting good nursing care and he expects him to make faster progress in his own home,” she replies.
“Good news. You know, I still have Isabella, his cat,” I say, wondering if I should try to visit Jared at his home this soon after his discharge. Then I decide to delay thinking about it until morning when my head is clear.
When morning arrives, Isabella sits as dead weight on my chest, purring. My head feels clogged from drinking so much wine the night before. I vow that I’m going to pay closer attention to alcohol consumption in the future. One glass of wine will do me just fine. “I’m a weakling, Isabella,” I say, pushing her off.
I still have another week to go before I start my new job. I feel restless and bored, think about looking for new hits on my dating profile, but I’m not ready to meet any new guys, yet. Instead, I decide to take a hike. I used to enjoy hiking in Connecticut before I met Alex. Then Alex said he didn’t like being outdoors. That fact, coupled with great California weather, makes the idea of hiking seem really worthwhile. I Google bay area hiking trails and hit the jackpot, finding a whole list of local trails to explore.
An hour later, I’m clearing my head at a county park that has a working farm associated with it. A mile in, following a mostly flat trail, I arrive at a shingled red building where a farmer in overalls swings a pitchfork to stack loose, golden hay. I stifle a laugh remembering how Anne told me to make hay while the sun shines. Last night I might have wondered if the farmer was single or married, but, fortunately, I’m sober now.
I see a brown and white cow grazing in a grassy field, three black and white goats romping and butting heads behind the slats of a wooden pen,
“I don’t think you should take up smoking, just sex,” she says.
She’s serious about wanting to meet Sal, so I write down his handle, the name he goes by on datesforall.com . In exchange she writes down the handle of three guys she thinks are too straight-laced, guys she thinks I might like, but I refuse to take the paper. “I think I want to meet guys somewhere in between,” I explain, and I really mean it. I promise myself that in the morning I’m going to think about everything she’s said; in the morning when my head is clear.
Emptying her glass of its final sip, Anne announces that she has to work in the morning, a twelve- hour shift. We’re both a bit wobbly when we stand, and I’m glad we walked downtown from my apartment. It seemed like a long walk coming, but Anne insisted. I’m glad now because the fresh air feels wonderful and neither of us has any right behind the wheel of any car.
We walk in silence, the heels of our shoes clickity-clacking on the sidewalk, a cadence to feed my thoughts. I shiver ever so slightly in the cool night air as I remember the feeling of being in love, how familiar Alex felt to me, and how right I always felt walking with him, my smaller hand tucked securely into the gentle pressure of his grasp. I breathe deeply, taking in the coolness, breathing out the breath of purple wine. The street light glows lighting our way, and sadness settles, but not too deep, as I swing my arms, my hands free of Alex’s touch.
When we get to my apartment where Anne’s Toyota is parked, she says she’s refreshed and clear-headed, safe to drive home. Hearing it makes me think about my parents and their car accident, and then about Jared.
“Have you heard anything more about how Jared is doing since he’s been discharged?” I ask.
“He just went home the other day, but Dr. Matthews has already made a couple home visit. He said he thinks Jared is getting good nursing care and he expects him to make faster progress in his own home,” she replies.
“Good news. You know, I still have Isabella, his cat,” I say, wondering if I should try to visit Jared at his home this soon after his discharge. Then I decide to delay thinking about it until morning when my head is clear.
When morning arrives, Isabella sits as dead weight on my chest, purring. My head feels clogged from drinking so much wine the night before. I vow that I’m going to pay closer attention to alcohol consumption in the future. One glass of wine will do me just fine. “I’m a weakling, Isabella,” I say, pushing her off.
I still have another week to go before I start my new job. I feel restless and bored, think about looking for new hits on my dating profile, but I’m not ready to meet any new guys, yet. Instead, I decide to take a hike. I used to enjoy hiking in Connecticut before I met Alex. Then Alex said he didn’t like being outdoors. That fact, coupled with great California weather, makes the idea of hiking seem really worthwhile. I Google bay area hiking trails and hit the jackpot, finding a whole list of local trails to explore.
An hour later, I’m clearing my head at a county park that has a working farm associated with it. A mile in, following a mostly flat trail, I arrive at a shingled red building where a farmer in overalls swings a pitchfork to stack loose, golden hay. I stifle a laugh remembering how Anne told me to make hay while the sun shines. Last night I might have wondered if the farmer was single or married, but, fortunately, I’m sober now.
I see a brown and white cow grazing in a grassy field, three black and white goats romping and butting heads behind the slats of a wooden pen,
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