Day #292: Acceptance; A short story

# 292

We’d made good time driving out to the house.  I’d forgotten how tranquil it was when the sun had gone down and the crickets were singing and the dew was rising

          As I got out of the Saab, both kids sleepy, I stared up at the moon, so full, kind of green with haze.  This was truly my gut’s home.  This was truly where I belonged with my children - in this place where my nerves let go with a little shake whenever I returned.

          Johnny tripped out of the passenger seat. “Mom - the waves are big, can we go down and look at them?”

          He was right.  I could hear high tide and the crash down on the beach.  I reached in and released Mallary, pulled her high on my shoulder, letting her continue to sleep and headed down the path after my son.  He knew that path by heart, hopping over roots uncovered long ago.  There were lights blinking on the horizon, but no one left on the beach, no sweatshirt clad family sitting around a fire singing.  I missed the dog at that moment.  I always felt safer with her help, her instincts guiding mine.

          I sat down, Mallary still in my arms, legs crossed.  Johnny ran down and chucked a few rocks into the surf, but came back and kneeled down near me leaning into my body, as glad to be here as I was.  I bent my fingers forward to touch his arm without letting go of the baby.  For a full minute we both took in the smell and the sound.

          “I’m hungry” 

          “Me too.  What should we eat?”

          “Soup?”

          “O.K. and cherries?”

          “OK”

          We stood; awkwardly I got up with Mallary beginning to stir and headed back to the house, the sound of the foghorn as a backdrop.

         

          We ate our chicken Ramen and cherries, snuggled on the futon couch and then I made up our beds.  I inserted Bonnie Raitt into the disc player and cleaned up the kitchen as the kids played in the living room. They began to yawn often again.

          I was only slightly aware that I’d run away from home - that I couldn’t take another day of my routine and that I’d packed up the kids without their father and driven down here to escape.  I felt like I had arrived not fled. Crawling into bed felt secure, comforting.