Random

Random vignettes from the weekend or almost-weekend.

Thursday night at Sonic (cranberry limeade! highly! recommended!). A little girl maybe 8 or 9 years old is zipping around the patio area with a ball, kinda bouncing it, kicking it, back and forth. "KANSAS!" Apparently her mother, in a minivan. "GET OVER HERE NOW!" "I MEAN IT! I GUESS YOU DON'T WANT ANY DESSERT TONIGHT!"... "KANSAS!" This goes on for a good five minutes solid, the girl completely tuning it out. Round about the fourth time the mom threatens withholding dessert, the girl--apparently having counted to the magic number of empty threats in her head and finding herself hard against the threshold--returns to the minivan. The ensuing screaming match is bloodcurdling enough for me to lean over and squint through the tinted windows to make sure no one's hair is being ripped out by the roots. They eventually leave. I don't notice if dessert is actually delivered before they do.

Saturday morning. A friend comes over for breakfast and World Cup, cooks eggs while I singe the bacon, talks about her ex and potential new guy. It makes me think of the days when I used to stop by a different friend's house for breakfast every morning. Sometimes we'd say screw the eggs and have ice cream instead. That seems like a lifetime ago. The GF doesn't like the former breakfast-mate very much and anyway she married some Baptist guy and moved up to Nuevo Phoenix so it doesn't much matter. Well, actually, she lives somewhere in the vicinity of Oro Valley, but it's all the same to me once you get north of River Road.

Saturday evening, Fourth Avenue. I'm there for a leisurely stroll. Tucson seems to be much more of a Friday night than a Saturday night kind of place. It's fairly deserted at 8:00. I walk from Antigone up to Epic and back, think about stopping in both places but ultimately keep walking. I wanted to walk to clear my head but keep tripping over the voice that asks where the hell everybody is.

Sunday afternoon. The boy was home long enough on Saturday to grab his things and truck over to a friend's house to spend the night. I pick him up and we hit Xoom Juice (Velvet Amazon! Highly! Recommended!) before going home. We play a game and then it's back in the truck for the drive up to his dad's house in, coincidentally, a different part of Nuevo Phoenix. I guess I'm okay with it.

Sunday night, my back yard. The girl dog finds her first palo verde beetle of the season. She is delirious with joy. I retreat to the garden to water the tomatoes and gulp my beer and try to not think about the hideously oversized, extra-crunchy exoskeleton being torn open and consumed one lip-smacking bite at a time. For the briefest second I almost understand George Bush. Better she should eat the fucking things in the yard than find them inside the house.

Now the house is quiet. Maktub, Dave Matthews, and Delbert McClinton on the CD changer, softly, the little floor fan providing a steady background drone. Dogs asleep on the floor. Chores done. I'm waiting. For exactly what, I'm not sure.