On a hot, muggy Saturday afternoon in July, Julie slips on her old, dirty sneakers. She heads to the garage, where after navigating the overflowing recycling bin, a bike, and two scooters, she reaches the lawn mower. She puts in the recharged battery and push it out to the front yard. As she pushes the quick start button, she reflects on how much easier this is than the old gas powered mower she used as a teenager. She used to mow lawns in her neighborhood for extra pocket money. Even now, that smell of fresh cut grass brings her back to those lazy summer days. Mowing one or two lawns in the morning, then spending carefree afternoons mostly spent lounging by the pool or playing tennis with friends. This was often followed by a short walk into town for DQ blizzards or 7-11 Slurpees thanks to her lawn mowing money. She always enjoyed mowing lawns, especially that sense of accomplishment when she was finished. She tried to make the perfect checkerboard pattern as she pushed the mower back and forth over the green turf. It felt almost hypnotic, with the din of the engine drowning out her noisy thoughts. She smiled with pride, as she examined the results of her efforts. She cleaned off the mower, put the battery back on the charger, and went inside for a refreshing glass of ice cold lemonade as a reward for a job well done.
Amid splashes, laughter, and shouts of “Marco” “Polo”, a whistle blows. “Adult Swim!”. There’s a collective groan as reluctant swimmers begrudgingly make their way to the side of the pool. A toddler in her puddle jumper shrieks as her dad wrestles her out of the water.
After quick snacks of soggy pretzels, melted granola bars, and carrot sticks (poor Charley), anxious kids line up at the the deep end. Impatiently waiting, slyly dipping in a toe, jokingly nudging friends towards the edge. Everyone screams and scatters as a wasp buzzes overhead.
Ten minutes, may as well be a lifetime. Can the second hand on the old clock above the lifeguard stand move any slower? Then the lifeguard grabs her sunglasses and begins her slog back to her perch. Stopping, she turns around, she’s forgotten something.
Finally settling into her chair, she begins adjusting the umbrella. She scans the pool area, “No running!” As the whistle comes to her lips, excitement fills the air. The whistle blows, “Cannonball!”
After breakfast, we go for a quick walk. Once back inside, you follow close behind as I head up to my home office. You happily settle onto your bed, ready for another hard day supervising me as I work from home. Your tail gentle wagging.
But as I start to pack up my computer and climb under my desk to unplug my laptop charger, your tail stops its measured beat and tucks up under you.
When I go to my closet and change out my sneakers for heels, you know for sure. The contentment that had been in your big brown eyes has transformed to disappointment. Your ears, usually alert, hang low and tight against your head. You lift one brow, then the other, and let out a snuffle and sigh. You resign yourself to a long, lonely day.
So do I. I grab my keys and purse, calling out, “Bye Sugar,” as I close and lock the door. I feel like Peter Pan as I shuffle to the car. I’ve lost my shadow for the day.
It’s so hot. I’m sticking to the lounge chair. I slap a mosquito on my leg. It’s time to join the crowd and cool off.
I want to jump in, but its chaos. I hear a scream, not of fear but of delight. It’s followed by a huge splash. There are kids everywhere. Canonballs, diving for rings, a game of sharks and minnows in the deep end and monkey in the middle in the shallow end. Oops, the ball just a small child and she’s crying out for mommy.
The adults are just as wild as the kids. Drinks in hand, sharing the latest neighborhood gossip.
She awoke, eager for what laid ahead. For the past 5 years, the drudgery of her daily routines had engulfed her days. The 6 am alarm, the long commute, hours at the office navigating the senseless corporate politics… All that time had passed, and what did she have to show for it. Superficial relationships with her colleagues, a stained coffee cup, folders full of PowerPoints, an inbox of unread emails. She’s stopped responding to any of them weeks ago. The astonishing thing is that no one seemed to notice. Today was a new beginning. As she drove to the office for what she knew would be the last time, she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders. Her breath felt easy; her mind clearer. Much of what laid ahead was unclear, but one thing she new for certain. She’s had enough.
Glasses. That’s the first thing I notice. Black rectangular frames, youthful and sporty but also hinting at his nerdy side. Then on closer inspections, I see the little brown dots, sprinkled on the top of his nose and across his cheeks. He looks so much like his younger sister that people ask if they are twins, but she doesn’t have any of those freckles. He gives me an annoyed look, because I’m studying his face so closely. Then he flashes his goofy grin, the one where he tries not to smile but smiles anyway and says “I love you mommy.”
I’m supposed to be at my computer, you know “working from home”. But my mind is wondering. As I fold laundry instead, my phone rings. I don’t know the number, but it’s local. I usually let it go to voicemail, yet for some reason I decide to answer. “Hello” I say. There’s a pause, then I hear “Hello.” It almost sounds like an automated call, so I don’t respond. Again I hear, “Hello, is this Mrs. Fields?” “Yes” I respond. “Hi Mrs. Fields, this is Rosemary from the Medical clinic. Can you confirm your date of birth?” I do. “Your doctor has seen the results from your mammogram, and would like you to come in tomorrow for a biopsy.” My mind is racing, biopsy - doesn’t that mean cancer? I feel an knot in my throat and tears sting my eyes. What does this mean? The nurse’s voice is soothing and calm, but behind her words I hear a sense of urgency. The appointment is set, and she asks if I have any questions. Of course I have questions, I say “No, thank you for your help.” And hang up.
