Sunday. The rains finally got the drift, Ma Sun has had enough of you. She warned them. Scolded them. Poked her head up from underneath the down comforter enough to tell them "No more", "Don't make me do this..." But they were stubborn little buggers. Flailing, falling, raining on our parade. I could have warned them, but I didn't wanna be a "told you so....."
She came flyin' out of her bed. Mad as hell. Glaring. Scorching. She won.
The world tilted on it's axile, and all the rain slipped off. Shunned into "Shame on you" land.....and Sunday was born.
I woke up to dark coffee and every bird on the universe camped in my unkempt yard singing out of tune, vying for the lead role in todays Soap Opera. You gotta give it to 'em, they never give up. I woke up to my new life, rewritten from the old, and a few pages missing. I kissed the sky. And waited.
Jonah never showed up to mow the yard. Not that he ever has before, but his late night call the night before gave me hope. Not that I can't mow it myself, oh I have a million times. Every time almost. With babies in backpacks, pushing the mower and pulling a buggy. Under ten o-clock street lights. In a cast to my knee. I just hoped this once, he'd show up. That I could lay eyes on my six foot tall wayward child in the sunlight. That I could know he was safe.
At one o'clock, I went to fetch the gas. I pumped my $3.29 cent worth of fuel into a can the size of my pocketbook, strapped it into the hatchback, and cranked my engine. And then I heard it. The sound. The noise. The message.
The Beastie Boys. "We gotta fiiiiiiggggght for our right to Partaaaaaaaaaay"! I turned it up louder. And louder. The speakers cracked. I cranked it one more time. It's a Toyota for crying out loud, she can take it. I rounded the corner rocking.
And when the afternoon played out, I whispered those words to myself, over and over again, Sometimes "we gotta fight" for our right....."to"......