#85
Meg pulled into the driveway. The dog’s head was hanging out the back window. Full summer, late afternoon, we’re all sleepy, or just restless.
Meg: I brought watermelon.
Me: I’ll get a knife.
Out back, the dog followed us down the hill towards the creek, the grass was almost knee length. Grasshoppers jumped, flew in the humid air. Meg was wearing cut off jean shorts and a striped tank-top. She was barefoot, her hair, up in a simple ponytail. Casual elegance.
I put down an old blanket, and the dog ran into the water. I unfolded my knife.
Meg: where’d you get that?
Me: my grandpa.
Pink juice ran down my arm, all the way to the elbow. Meg licked it off and then winked at me. Her face was freckled.
Later, the dog asleep, tired from swimming, smelling like dog, Meg brushed my arm with her long fingers, we were both dozing, I was barely there.
Meg: can we do this everyday?
Me: what else is there?