I asked Jesus to scootch up really close to her bed.
There wasn’t much else I knew to do.
While a friend hours away pushed back against a sometimes debilitating disease from a hospital bed, I reminded myself that tapping at His window isn’t just a matter of helpless hand-wringing. Asking Him to do it was a better thing than scootching up to her bed myself.
No matter how I would have liked to do that.
I only wrote a few essays for Mr. Palm, even though he assigned one a week for the entire school year. Somewhere in that first month or so I reached the pinnacle of sixth grade writing which, curiously enough, meant I wasn’t asked to do it anymore. He handed me his blue grade book and my classmates’ work instead, a stack of lined pages with the tattered edges torn from a spiral notebook.
It wouldn’t be the last time I started, and stopped, writing.
The whisper of the river, out long past curfew, steals through the trees only to be swallowed in the scuffling of my shoes against stone pavers as I slip down the steps in the dark. The sun will soon enough crawl out over the top of the bluff. The lounge chair still feels damp after a rare dribble from a drought-cracked Texas sky and I smile that just a few hours before, this now silent dock rang with shrieks and laughter as avatars sprang to life.
Relationships birthed between pixels took on a less finite dimension.
I’d stood back then, to watch a while, and to take in that such a thing could even make sense this side of the end and the beginning.
But now, stars flicker alone in the night sky, arranged in a certain constellation whose name I should know, but don’t, and my ignorance doesn’t matter to them in the least.
A pair of bats flies over the Frio, fluttering into their last swoops before finding their own rest in the dawn, and it seems a very good time to pull my hoodie up past my ears.
Throwing down swigs of ice cold water to chase the aftereffects of a deliciously spicy Vietnamese soup, I remembered Cafe Latté’s jalapeno chocolate cake.
“Wonderful chocolate cake,” I told the friend sharing space with me at the big wooden table. I could see the river in the distance and it made me want another cold drink. “But a slow burn sort of sneaks up on you after the chocolate is gone.”
I’m feeling rather in the midst of that jalapeno chocolate cake slow burn right now.