Rain Drops Keep Falling On My Head

IMG_4843Tiny rain drops began to ping against our windshield. Donna noticed a park nestled into an older residential neighborhood – the type where sidewalks buckle from the roots of giant mulberry trees.

“Let’s get some air.” She said

We walked silently across damp grass toward a stone arbor, its roof of ivy and meandering foliage promised shelter from the increasing rain. We took a seat on a heavy wooden bench. The air was fragrant from damp leaves.

She eventually broke the silence. “Let’s sell the house and take the kids to Europe.”

Hearing that was a unique type of shock – a combination of seeing the bicycle you hoped for under the Christmas tree and finding a brown hairy spider on your pillow.

Let’s start with the Christmas feeling: for me, nothing hits the spot like quitting. The feeling really works for me – the sudden weightlessness – like floating on a down comforter while glancing down at the chalk dust of my freshly erased slate falling down upon the heads of those below me. Ah, the warmth and simplicity of giving up. I’d compare it to the womb, except I don’t remember the womb and if I recall, it doesn’t end well – thus the spider part of my analysis.

“For one year.”

I laughed.

“Jeffery, I’m serious. We have no control of our lives. I want to get out from under all

this, so we’re not beholden to anyone.”

I was on board with the parts about “selling” and “going.” Especially after what I’d just been through. Our once thriving business had slowed to a crawl and we’d reached the end of the pot. In addition, we’d both grown disenchanted with suburban family life – all those nasty notes from the orthodontist, uncomfortable teacher conferences, and the messy politics with the kid’s sports.

She added: “Imagine the five of us spending the weekend at some quiet little cove in the Mediterranean.”

“Beats the shit out of setting up soccer goals at 6:00AM.” I’d been spending more time with the parents on the team than my kids themselves.

“Walking through open air markets, gathering our dinner?”

I had to admit I’d rather deal with a cheese vendor than a screaming Little League coach. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“For a long time.”

She sat forward. Let’s do this for the kids – for us. Her lovely eyes beamed with that good ol’ excitement that I hadn’t seen in a while. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She turned to face me. “Is that a yes?”

NEXT: Isn’t There Sangria in Idaho?



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