The accidental wave.....

I am enchanted with water. Crystal glass-eyed blue water, thick murky lake water, green river water with swirling paisley oil slicks. Cold and hard from the outside faucet. Bee-sting sharp, stabbing my back and temples from the broken shower head. An ice cold beer bath from the thick and foamy tides.

I love the sounds water makes. Every drop of crème- rinsed rain racing, gurgling, slurping down the bathtub drain. Invisible spray paint pssssshhhing from the sprinkler. The lions roar on an empty beach…her yawning, stretching lazy growl heard a million miles away…..endless. Saturday afternoon skies, dripping off my leaning roof. Running down the back door. Falling from my face.

It’s delicious” I said…..goose bumps spreading like a rampant rash down my arms and legs.
“Ha!” “I don’t believe you”
“It looks …………….cold”, smiling a little, but afraid to smile too much, certain I would pull him in.

And in the deep, deep water
We
Might just drown…..

Little black spell....

She flew into the driveway, aiming for her spot, wreckless, and not at all caring if someone else might be parked there. It belonged to her, of course. That gravely, patchy grassed, dusty piece of drive way. She irrrrrkkkkked the brakes just shy of slamming down the pink park benches, threw open the crinkled driver’s door and screamed…… “I’m home!” I looked out the kitchen window in time to see her fanny and feet only, the rest of her lunged face first into the back seat, her tiny hands flipping Samsonite and garbage bags blindly out behind her! Thunk! Plunk! “Oh, this is just junk!” Make-up bag hurled over her shoulder. “Mom! I’m home” she screams a little louder, with her “Are we losing this damn game?” cheerleading voice. “I’m right here, baby girl, you just clobbered me with a ghetto blaster”…..

We hugged and
lugged
It all up the drive-way.

Home for the summer.

Giant Tupperware tins with leftovers and graduation gifts line my hallway. “Why do you keep hauling this stuff back and forth?” I asked her with my best garage sale smile on. “It’s sentimental, Mom” “…‘kay” I mutter, the one who taught her memories are priceless.

An hour later, she’s unpacking and rearranging her room. Lining little perfume bottles and mascara samples up on the vanity. Choreographing her private world. Shoving “please don’t tell me this is you” pictures into the frame around the mirror. Yet another summer, I’ll have to ban her grandparents from her room.

An hour and a half later, I stand in the hallway…pacing. Waiting on the ice cream truck. And then she starts. A halter flies out the door and lands at my feet. A pink bra, three socks, a fake diamond ring. Two hot curlers, a pair of size 0 jeans, an Ohio State sweatshirt. A little black dress with the tags on it. Two plastic champagne cups and a bag of aquarium marbles.

“Is that it?” I offer, my toes stretching to lift the pink bra up and drop it in the black garbage bag. “Yeah”
“So you don’t know who this stuff belongs to?” “Nah” “So we don’t need to save it?” “No, Mom, I’ve told you that before. It’s not mine. And I don’t know who it belongs to so I can’t return it”

This is a ritual. The cleansing.

The pitching of the “it accidentally ended up in my room” stuff.

I lift the heavy bag of marbles up and shove them in the hall closet. Skinny just got two new goldfish. Christmas is only seven months away.

I kick the little black dress. Cat hair swirls in a current and latches on for safekeeping . I reach down and pick it up, the tags jingle a little. Size 3.

I hold it up in front of the bathroom mirror. Dust it off. Traipse barefooted into my room and grab a hanger.

I can’t wait for Friday.

Love stories and left-overs....

I whipped the twice-baked potatoes out of the oven and slung them as hard as I could at the cold tile wall above the kitchen sink. I watched them stick, cheese glued, to the riveted grout, and then slide, like lazy slugs , down the wall, and plop into the stainless steel sink.

I hit the button.

The disposal devoured them like a pit bull on a pile of baby rattle snakes.

THE BREAK-UP.

He freaked. Had never seen me so volatile. So Alive, really. Had never seen me so…“So what?”

It was raining, summer sleet….the sliding glass doors were covered in a hard-water stained film, the rain pounding on the other side….steam rising off the concrete patio. From the kitchen, where I stood, Michelob in hand, he was just a shadow on the other side of a dirty shower curtain…..

I watched, cat-eyed, as he mounted the bike and rode off into torrents, the rain pelting his face….

“God, I hope he’s okay…he makes it home safe”

I glanced at the sink. Little dribbles of bacon, aged Wisconsin cheddar, and remnants of potatoes tattooed the stainless steel.

“I’ll worry about it tomorrow”

I plunked my skinny little fanny onto the corduroy couch and finished my beer. “There!” I waited for the tears to come, the wailing, the flailing, the “Oh my God, I just called off a wedding" blues to come……

I drank another beer. And looked at the clock. Got up and looked at the sink again.

It’s twenty years later, and I’m still hungry for those twice-baked potatoes……