Once, in high school, I was at the Target at 80th and Wadsworth with a friend, walking in the parking lot, and I felt such a giant surge of joy that I wanted to take her hand, to squeeze it in mine, and look into her eyes and say, “I am so happy right now. Happy to be alive. Happy to be here, in this parking lot, with YOU.” But I didn’t. I was afraid somehow. That she wouldn’t like it. That it would embarrass her or me.
Now that I’m grown, I’d do it in a heartbeat, shazam.
I love my friends. The one who shares my bed. The ones that purr. The one who tells me I am awesome. The one who paints me pictures. The one who remains silent on a triple-dog-dare. The one who is four. The ones who bought my book. The ones who didn’t.
I am greedy for them. Greedy for their voices. Greedy for their hugs. Greedy for their laughter. Greedy for their smiles. Greedy for their wit. Greedy for it all and to give everything I’ve got right back. I think it’s the way to be. I really and truly do.
…
p.s. – the water was frigid.
Cutting loose and driving like a badass, nearly lapping the granny, er, dude, ahead of me. Good times, despite it not being enviro-friendly.
Catching up with this man from my teenage days, Pat, and getting to know his awesome wife, Molly, and one of the sweetest dogs with a head bigger than mine, Valla. We’re in Forest Park here, on the climb back up to the car where we, more accurately, Valla, decided we all needed to rest. Pat commented at the absurdity of a dog bred for life in Africa should start to overheat in Portland, of all places. Pat is like that, clever expressions dropping right and left and making us all laugh, even those of the naughty and perverted variety. I decided that he’s the only person I know that can make almost anything dirty sound funny and bearable, like that scene in Three Men and a Baby when Tom Selleck reads about boxing.
Spending time with this pair was like stumbling upon treasure, where you can’t believe your luck that it was right there, ripe for the picking, and now it is yours. I’m so glad they were in our neck of the woods.
I like that he said brown-ish at the ripe age of four, that he can see the nuance, that there is green and some yellow in there, too. I like that he can speak his mind with me, sharing what makes him nervous (big kids watching him go down the slide) and happy (sitting next to me during dinner, sweet sigh) and sad (his friend when he is mean). I like that I can be my goofiest, cavorting around the yard and house, in my usual way, with him in on it, making up stories during long piggy-back rides while I sing to Radiohead. The gorgeous alchemy of two happy souls moving in tandem before he rests his head on my lap and drifts off to sleep. Another play-date and sleepover for the record books.
