I'm sitting, ironing, in the livingroom in a slip and an up-do when the phone rings (10 minutes early. Punctuality runs in both directions in my world.). I cant find the damn phone, and I can't run down the stairs in my half-undressed because my nose is running and your parents are waiting and you're holding your old television set by the downstairs buzzer, calling out to them. "She's been sick. She must be sleeping. I'll ring her again."
Shit shit shit.
I pull on a brown polyester skirt and a black record store hoodie and run down three flights of stairs. I can't breathe through my nose.
"Hi. I'm not quite ready, but I'm more ready than I look."
All the way up the damn stairs you tell me "You don't have to come, they won't be upset. You're sick. Stay Home and Sleep. Why do you have to prove everything?"
and the combination of the word 'Everything' and the immense pressure in my sinuses and ears makes me snap at you, which I very rarely do.
"DONTYOUTELLME DONTYOU DONT!"
I look at my hands and realize that I've moved my thumbs from the holding position (by first finger) to the striking position (curled in front of fist).
"Gaa. I'm sorry." I push my hands against my eyes. "Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I just need a second, okay?"
Believe me, my little outbursts are just as much of a suprise to me as they are to you. I pull the freshly ironed black cotton skirt around my ankles before I realize that I still have the brown one on. Rinse. Repeat. I finish dressing in less than a minute. All implications point to 'forgiven' when I brush a loose hair off the back of your neck, and your muscles bend to meet me. (You do that in your sleep. If I set my hand on your hip, all of your energy shifts slightly toward me. I can't explain it, because you don't really move more than a centimeter, but that centimeter seems to murmur 'You. I know you.')
Your parents are sweet and knowlegeable. Your father opens and closes the door for me, as you do for your mother. We drive through downtown.
("That's the new courthouse."
"Library."
"I like it."
"I wish it were more stoic. Less spacecraft."
"Sing me a birthday song."
"Okay.")
The restaurant gives us the best seat in the house. Table in the corner surrounded by glass out over the water. Seattle skyline on the left, Sound Sunset in back. You couldn't fake that smile if you tried.
"I've got the best girl and the best parents at the best table in the best world!"
Happy birthday, Cake.
Posted by Sonya at September 24, 2003 08:44 AMyay. Someday I will meet him but until then, I will just wish him felicitations from afar.
Posted by: fbf at September 24, 2003 11:13 PMWhat a lovely post. I've recently become hooked on your blog. Great stuff!
Posted by: Kelly at September 25, 2003 12:09 PMwhat a lovely world we live in. and you write about it so well.
Posted by: Sue at September 25, 2003 09:08 PMYes. Like that. Especially the part of "You. I know you." Way cool.
Ok I'm hooked. see you later
Thanks Kids! You're swell.
Posted by: sonya at September 26, 2003 09:34 AMfound your blog in random travels - excellent writing...unfortunately, in my experience that "centimeter" is more like two feet, and the "you. I know you" is more like "I know you, and I shall take your side of the bed - I know you won't mind."
Posted by: scooter at September 26, 2003 12:54 PM