These days, 6 p.m. Friday isn’t just the end of a week.
It’s the sloughing off of another bit of heartache.
It’s the another step up the mountain we are climbing, all of us in the weird extended family. And it is feeling the loose pebbles slithering under our shoes.
On Friday, 6 p.m., I am ready to push the teleport button that will take me back instantly to the moment in the Dominican when I was alone and floating on my back in the warm water, studying the moon in the late afternoon sky.
I was alone and empty, but Colin and my sister were nearby… I could feel their love pulsating to me through the rippling water.
I didn’t expect that I might ever feel old in this way, but at these hours, when the van is an exhausted lump in the driveway, from running back and forth and looking forward to the weekend home, I feel the sag.
It’s pulling on my skin and I am afraid– when all is said and done– that the pool will be drained and the moon will be hidden by thin, uninteresting clouds, not worth commenting on.
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