I pulled them in the wagon around the driveway and up and down the road. We’d have tea parties with tiny china cups and juice, animal crackers, raisins and apple slices. When I filled up the kiddie pool they had to wait until the afternoon to use it because the well water was so cold.
They liked to wear bright colors. She always had to have her socks pulled up to her knees. She still does actually. He used to walk on his toes. We went to the library and took out piles of picture books. We made forts with the blankets and chairs and cut hearts out of construction paper and hung them on the front door.
Later it was just the 3 of us. We had tropical fish and a guinea pig. I took them to Cub Scouts and Brownies and church and CCD, and karate and music lessons. I waited with them at the bus stop. We played frisbee in the back yard and went to the beach with noodles and skim boards and buckets and goggles.
And there were proms and awards and concerts and late nights and poems, piercings and tatoos and music being played and listened to and concerts and late nights and oh I already said late nights.
And I’m driving across Alligator Alley and she’s playing some song about gin. I’m thinking I’d like some. He’s taking a bus to Colorado tomorrow because there’s no work here. He doesn’t really have a plan. Something about making enough money to get another car and then coming back.
So we said goodbye because we’re on our way to orientation. It begins to rain and it’s heavy enough to need the wipers, but light enough that the raindrops smear on the windshield. I can’t see and it pisses me off. I can’t see.
And next week at this time I’ll be alone and life as I’ve known it for the past 13 years will end and a different single life will begin. I’ll cook for one and shop for one and turn into one of those people who puts the TV on for company. The cats will climb on me and try to make me feel better.
And I’ll make lists of all the things I’m going to do with all my free time: 1. clean closets 2. practice calligraphy 3. practice eating with chopsticks 4. learn a new instrument 5. weed the garden 6. be crafty 7. write shit 8. volunteer 9. bake pies.
And I’ll sit and stare at the list and mope around and eat some cookies and watch sad movies instead.
If it rains on my way back across Alligator Alley next week I don’t know what I’ll do because everyone keeps telling me that I’m going to cry for days and I’m determined to prove them wrong because I’m strong. But sometimes rain makes me cry.
Right now it’s not raining. I’m getting pissed off because I can’t see. I can’t see.