Monday, September 11, 2006

Weekend in Scenes

Scene 1: Don't scream unless it's an emergency.
Screaming outside my window. Children walking their bikes up my driveway and then pedaling down the hill screeching at the top of their lungs. Why is everyone always in my driveway?
Scene 2: Saturday. 2 pm.
The heart feels sad for no good reason. Everyone is out in the sun. We all seem a bit uneasy. In the afternoon I stop and visit beside the booths. It is like a play. We might be saying "How are you?" or "Isn't it hot?" but we might also be saying "Cantaloupe and watermelon" or "This is what I'm saying. Listen to me while the people in the audience can't hear us." Someone points at the sky. Minutes later I know I should walk faster. The wind takes a turn for the biting. For the first time ever, I am drinking lemonade in the street and there are no bees. Where are the bees? Minutes later, thunder.
Scene 3: Sunday. 7:30 am. Phone ring #5. This time, I catch it.
"Is Dustin there?"
"Ah. No, you have the wrong number."
"Oh." Pause. "Is this Jeremy's phone?"
"No. It's my phone. It's...Abigail's phone."
"Oh." Pause. "Is this phone usually used by someone else?"
"NO. It's MY phone."
"Oh." Pause. Click.
Scene 4: Sunday. 4:00 pm.
I have burnt my lips with absurdly hot chocolate.
Scene 5: Sunday. 4:45 pm.
I am in a gigantic circle of people. I am wearing blue gloves with snowflakes on them. I am wiggling my hips and swiveling my shoulders. I am supposed to be flirting with people across the circle. I am instead enjoying that we are all moving in a circle and laughing happily in the cold.
Scene 6: Sunday. 9:00 pm.
Bags are strewn across my floor. I have been productive. I have bought: A bag with cloud fabric. Three bead bracelets. An adorable half-jacket. And things for other people. I have a quilt across my lap, and I am bent over almost double, hand-stitching the binding in place. I can't believe it is only 9 pm and my cheeks feel sunburnt but are really wind burnt. I have no work to do but this.

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