The boy and the dog snooze. It’s late and the family is watching a horror film.
“I’m headed out to the hot tub. Anyone want to go?” I ask.
The Engineer gives me a nonverbal “sorry” so I grab the keys for the gate and head out the door.
“Hang on, I’ll join you.” She moves with the urgency of a waitress in the weeds.
I’d anticipated a sit-alone-in-the-dark-and-reflect-on-life’s-big-questions during a solitary steep in the hot tub, but I’ve now got company.
“It’s freezing”, she says once we reach the pool, and while I open the gate, she tips her black newsboy cap forward and tiny curls of brown hair spill out the sides. I love watching my sister grow up and old with me.
We drop our towels and sink into the hot tub in our middle-aged bathing suits. S’s suit is frayed and shirred, like the site of a recent cat-fight.
“Hey, want me to buy you a new suit for your birthday?”
“Naaah, thanks. I have another. I’m just wearing this one out”.
We look up at the stars and catch a glimpse of the dazzling cross that sits high up on the hills. S mountain bikes these crumbly mountains in the heat of summer after long shifts at the hospital.
“So how’s work?” she asks.
I give her the usual quasi-sincere run-down about how I love it, but how I’d like more time to write stories and bake gooey desserts for the boy and the man who fixes things.
It's quiet.
“I read your stuff, you know,” she confesses.
“What?” I’m truly stunned.
“Yeah, I read the story about your taking those diaries. It’s good.”
“Really...” A dubious younger sister response.
“Um, yesssss? I would never just say that”.
She’s a little annoyed. S does not mince words. Earlier she’d told me that the boy’s eyes were slightly misaligned but have improved over time.
“Thanks, Goob, but writing stories, that’s kind of my Plan B”.
“You should only have one plan,” she says with total conviction. So the believer says to the skeptic.
I listen.
“If you have one plan, you’ll do what you can to make it work because it has to work. No back-ups, no excuses.”
“No back-ups,” I repeat.
I consider her theory in silence. And in the steamy hot tub on the eve of spring in the Coachella Valley I know she’s right. Her worldview is a respectable and enviable one. Choose a plan and make it work. A backup merely siphons the energy out of a dream.
I look up in the dark in silence and imagine my sister in the full light of day struggling up these dusty, hot hills on her mountain bike unencumbered by a water bottle. She’s on call at the hospital and has sandwiched a grueling ride into her already busy day. Her beeper activates but she’s calculated that she’s a 16-minute pedal ride from a quick shower. And so she speeds recklessly downhill, crafty little webcam atop her helmet to witness any mishaps that’ll someday be molded into poolside stories, legs scraped up like a Jersey ice rink. She is 40 going on 15 and is as wise as a goat.
“You ready?” she asks.
We lift ourselves out of the hot tub and toddle off into the night.
“I’m headed out to the hot tub. Anyone want to go?” I ask.
The Engineer gives me a nonverbal “sorry” so I grab the keys for the gate and head out the door.
“Hang on, I’ll join you.” She moves with the urgency of a waitress in the weeds.
I’d anticipated a sit-alone-in-the-dark-and-reflect-on-life’s-big-questions during a solitary steep in the hot tub, but I’ve now got company.
“It’s freezing”, she says once we reach the pool, and while I open the gate, she tips her black newsboy cap forward and tiny curls of brown hair spill out the sides. I love watching my sister grow up and old with me.
We drop our towels and sink into the hot tub in our middle-aged bathing suits. S’s suit is frayed and shirred, like the site of a recent cat-fight.
“Hey, want me to buy you a new suit for your birthday?”
“Naaah, thanks. I have another. I’m just wearing this one out”.
We look up at the stars and catch a glimpse of the dazzling cross that sits high up on the hills. S mountain bikes these crumbly mountains in the heat of summer after long shifts at the hospital.
“So how’s work?” she asks.
I give her the usual quasi-sincere run-down about how I love it, but how I’d like more time to write stories and bake gooey desserts for the boy and the man who fixes things.
It's quiet.
“I read your stuff, you know,” she confesses.
“What?” I’m truly stunned.
“Yeah, I read the story about your taking those diaries. It’s good.”
“Really...” A dubious younger sister response.
“Um, yesssss? I would never just say that”.
She’s a little annoyed. S does not mince words. Earlier she’d told me that the boy’s eyes were slightly misaligned but have improved over time.
“Thanks, Goob, but writing stories, that’s kind of my Plan B”.
“You should only have one plan,” she says with total conviction. So the believer says to the skeptic.
I listen.
“If you have one plan, you’ll do what you can to make it work because it has to work. No back-ups, no excuses.”
“No back-ups,” I repeat.
I consider her theory in silence. And in the steamy hot tub on the eve of spring in the Coachella Valley I know she’s right. Her worldview is a respectable and enviable one. Choose a plan and make it work. A backup merely siphons the energy out of a dream.
I look up in the dark in silence and imagine my sister in the full light of day struggling up these dusty, hot hills on her mountain bike unencumbered by a water bottle. She’s on call at the hospital and has sandwiched a grueling ride into her already busy day. Her beeper activates but she’s calculated that she’s a 16-minute pedal ride from a quick shower. And so she speeds recklessly downhill, crafty little webcam atop her helmet to witness any mishaps that’ll someday be molded into poolside stories, legs scraped up like a Jersey ice rink. She is 40 going on 15 and is as wise as a goat.
“You ready?” she asks.
We lift ourselves out of the hot tub and toddle off into the night.
6 comments:
Yes, elevate Plan B to Plan A and make it work. More stories for me, and it is all about me, of course ;)
Your sister is a very wise woman.
Go for it!
XXOO
GTia
Methinks your sister has no children. You've had a Plan A of your very own for over a year now. No back-ups. No excuses. Everything else is gravy.
I'm struggling with 'wise a a goat'. Is that or is that not wise? If wise, how wise? Even google failed me!
I'm also struggling with proofreading - wise as a goat.
"Some people write for fifteen years with no success and then decide to quit. Don't look for success and don't quit. If you want to write, write under all circumstances. Success will or will not come, in this lifetime or the next. Success is none of our business. It comes from outside. Our job is to write, to not look up from our notebook and wonder how much money Norman Mailer earns.”
"The Long Quiet Highway" by Natalie Goldberg
Great quote, Rollin. Henceforth I'm going to credit it to you and not Natalie Goldberg.
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