Polaroid #124

There’s something to be said about the day before.

The day before, you never would have thought, I didn’t think my life would be this way.

No – you would pull on a sweater, your favorite pair of jeans, and head out the door to buy parmesan cheese, basil, garlic, from the supermarket. When you look at the recipe and halfway to the car you realize oh – you forgot eggs – you throw your hands up in the air to signal, “woops, forgot something.” Even though there’s no one watching. You don’t want to look like an idiot.

But as you drive your Volkswagen down the highway, a smile dances on the corners of your mouth. And you realize it’s too late – only fools fall in love.

The recipe calls for two sticks of butter and you reluctantly add them to the pot of cheese. That’s a lot of butter, your mother would say.

From the view of the kitchen window, framed by white checkered drapes, two little girls are making daisy chains on the lawn. The one with the red painted fingernails laughs and puts a daisy crown on her head. The laugh sounds like snapdragons shaking in the wind. You laugh too.

7:00 and the dish is on the table. You’ve cleared off the sticky vinyl tablecloth as best you can, and you can see the heat rising from the creamy green pesto in the folds of the pasta.

Hours later, the heat has stopped rising.

You don’t pick up the bowls and the dinner stays out all night, the cheese hardened into stiff curds by morning.

There was happiness in your eyes. The day before you found out he was gone.


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