Friday afternoon, the end of the working day looming. A phone call, a question. Caught off guard, giving the wishful thinking answer instead of the truthful answer.
Later at home, a package. “Happy Friday” reads the label, “I love you”. Inside a pair of proper hiking boots in the wishful thinking size. They fit anyway and should stretch just enough over time to fit comfortably.
Saturday morning, awake even earlier than for a work day. Warmly dressed, new boots donned. He ties the laces because there is a special way to do it. I doubt I’ll ever get it right; he’ll be tying my boot laces for ever.
A long day, a beautiful and dusty day, the air filled with vehicle fumes and testosterone. Awesome display of aerobatics both in the air and on the ground.
Sun sets, night falls. McDonald’s open twenty-four hours a day. Tired, hungry, sunburned, dusty and hungrier still. There is no dress code, our grimy attire no more noticeable than then that of the lady in her nightie and slippers.
Finally the boots come off, I can undo the laces just fine. Sleep comes eventually and in the morning, Sunday, I don’t remember my dreams.