I Worried

That the Chicago airport would confound him.

That we wouldn’t make it into the virtual queue for a Star Wars ride at Disney’s Hollywood Studios.

I worried he’d think our family suite at the Art of Animation would be too childish, or that hanging out with his Nana wouldn’t be cool.

I worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up with my 18-year-old grandson for all the fun.

I worried about lots of stuff, but I forgot to worry about cancer.

Weird how I always seem to worry about the wrong things.

Some day Garrett and I are going to keep our vacation plans.

I’ve Been Thinking

Driving, I thought

Of life and death

How some folks live more

In only a handful of years

Than some who barely scratch

Life’s surface after decade upon decade

Of blood coursing through veins

A heart beating, lungs expanding,

Going through the motions

But that’s not living.

That’s marking time.

In Black and White

My mother reclined on the sand, long legs extended

Shying away from the camera

Water droplets drying on her black one-piece bathing suit

Her cigarette held just so

While we kids splashed about in ice cold water

She was beautiful, but never knew it

No one ever told her; I believe they thought she understood

But she never did.

Peace, people

At the K & N

Maybe seventeen, the carhop, her pregnant belly preceding her, waddled up to the driver’s side door.

She carried two root beer floats and an order of fries on a tray that she hooked onto a window rolled halfway down. She brushed away droplets of sweat dotting her forehead.

I was pregnant, too. Barely older than the carhop. The float was a craving. The fries an after thought.

We made eye contact, the waitress and I. My place in the passenger seat somehow granting me special dispensation.

I felt superior, there with my husband. I made judgements over greasy fries and root beer soaked ice cream.

Every now and again I wonder how her story played out. A right turn here. A detour there. She’d be my age, or thereabouts.

I hope her life’s been good.

The Cowboy

I danced one night with a cowboy

He asked; I said yes, even though my friends were whining to go

I remember the smell of him, like new leather and spice,

The feel of his crisp white shirt and my hand in his,

And the way he held me close, like I was fragile and precious.

He asked if he could take me home, but I was spoken for already, so I thanked him for the dance

And went on my way.

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