I have lots of liquid emotion swirling around in me that has not yet thickened into the jelly-clay necessary for forming them into words. Cold and hot.
And the day was beautiful. I enjoyed just driving with the windows down, the wind blowing my hair all around, happy music playing too loud on the stereo, singing at the top of my lungs and smiling like an idiot at no one. Happiness.
And then apprehension. Grandpa Lewis worked on my car today and a bolt broke off in something important and I felt that hot wave of anticipation at future hardship. But then he fixed it.
And anger, because she was in a bad mood today and had nothing nice to say. And I warned her. Stop being so mean or I'll leave. And she made another comment later. And I left.
And spiffiness because I ended up at wal-mart and they had my new favorite toothpaste and foaming hand soap and ACT mouthwash and I felt all grown up. I wish I had my own bathroom.
And then defiance when she said she worried about me when I was gone. I should have told her where I was going, she says. I say, you have left me in similar situations before. I leave the room. She likes to fight. I do not like to fight. And my room is my sanctuary.
And lots of other smaller things. Like procrastination. Nervousness. Restlessness. Discontent. Contentedness. Anticipation.
Sigh. I know where I want to be. Forever Summer. 1989. You and me playing in the plastic pool in your backyard. Running from your dog. Or swimming at grandma's playing the little mermaid. Or in the room with the giant fireplace of stone. Or being afraid of the hole in Joanies floor. Or grandpa lifting us up in the bobcat bucket. Swinging on the crane. My mom going down the huge slide at the beach. Me rolling down the parking lot of putt putt. The time you ______ in a napkin. Burning our butts off at Spirit Song. Watching Emilie and being scared to death when she was sleeping, checking her breathing every five minutes. And remember when there was only one pool at the Bavarian inn?