Moss: Part II

Muggy run Friday. We may as well have been inside the old sneakers we wore. "I'm going to go down and splash some water on my face," Bisque says about two miles in. Good idea. There's a lake right there! Who knew!

So we hop down the concrete steps to the waves lapping some rocks. I see the rocks are moss, so I bend down where I am am splash myself the best I can. But, before I can say, "Wait, don't--" Bisque is stepping onto a big mossy slab. In one second I panic. There are so many options--yelp, lunge and try to catch him, close my eyes...I gasp as his feet fly from under him and he lands square on his back halfway submerged in the water. I frantically garble, "Where is your phone*! Talk it out of your pocket!" Phone was safe despite every other part of his shorts and tee being drenched somehow. He was fine. he carefully stepped back onto dry land. We walked the rest of the way home since he was sogging. Sore neck for a couple days, but it was no big deal.

I've been thinking about that moment. What if I had flailed and tried to scoop him up as he fell? Surely my quicker response time could have saved him the womp. But then I think of the logistics, and even if I COULD have reached out, might I have kinda nicked his head causing it to eventually hit much harder on the stone? It could have all cracked open right there. In this case, my best intended action may have been murder.

*It says a lot about the importance of technology in society that the first thing I asked about was his replaceable cell. Bisque later mentioned casual fun is not as fun anymore because of cell phones. On our walk home I mentioned it was right of passage to be pushed into Peppermint's swimming pool with your clothes on in middle school. No more of that with iPhones in pockets!

Italy: Part Three

This was the Italy I imagined. The vines of tiny green grapes wrapping up the hillside. The dark swimming hole. Cemetary perch.

We had our "Big Nice Meal" in the nicest spot our guidebook recommended. Reservations are "a must" we read. Our little host greeted us with vigor and shots of lemonchello. We asked about dining tonight at the top of the hill. He was on the phone in a flash. "9 PM balcony? He is my friend." I wore my new cream dress.

We were seated just after sunset, when the ocean glowed pink. Bread and cuttlefish ink pasta and fresh anchovies, mozzarella prawn, calamari, sweet onion tuna--all in tiny boats, bite-sized and increasingly divine. I drank a vanilla tea and we shared a tiramisu. Bisque left for the bathroom, and I sat, as I now often do with no cell service, quietly enjoying my loneliness.

When he came back he asked me what time I thought it was. I didn't know. But, my, was it dark. "Eleven," he said. I asked for a second dessert--a chocolate almond cake--and we made it home close to midnight.