Susan Senator

Now a popsicle orange sun sets on July 1, melting into the purple bottoms of long flat clouds. Flashes of light are filtered through short muscular trees.

But in the morning the clouds warred with the sun; half the sky was scrubbed blue, half, hairy gray. Which would win? I took sips of not-sweet-enough coffee and watched. Too lazy to add more Splenda, I read a Cosmo that I had already read. A sexy short story, badly written, surprisingly arousing. Mind wandered to Ned, of course, buried under silky beige comforter and four pillows. Sleeps down deep, like he’s under water.

There suddenly appeared to be more blue than gray now. More coffee would help. Yes, I think the day will be saved, after all. No need to come up with an alternate plan. No need to explain a hike in the woods to Nat. But shouldn’t we do something different sometimes? But no. The capricious ocean waits, rolling impatiently in her bed of warm soft sand. The sweetness of sunblock in the air mingles with the quieter, heavier, female smell of the sea.

Ned wrote N+ S 23 in a heart. Max, Ben, and I built structures with sand that felt like a friend’s warm back when you pat it. I tried to get Nat to touch the sand, to help with the tunnels and the mounding. He said, “Yes,” but walked in the other direction. How many years, now, have I been trying to get Nat to actually play, NT-style, with the sand? But he still does not enjoy it at all. He would rather run in a large figure eight, looping around several families, in a crescendo of silly talk and puppet hand. Again the morning’s come, again he’s on the run, sunbeams shining through his hair, appearing not to have a care. Today, a gift to me, no one noticed.

Yesterday was different. Yesterday two French Canadian teenagers, maybe even older, grinned, pointed (subtly) and stared in what seemed to be disbelief. Believe it, Baby. C’est l’autisme. Ned said maybe it’s just that they think he’s cute. Ned said that I should use it as a “teaching moment.” Instead, I shook off a sandy chair in their direction and watched the particles land all over them. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” I said loudly, as they brushed the sand away, “especially when people are being rude.” I put down the chair and wiped my hands, while they looked at me, again in disbelief, waiting for an apology that never came. Jamais, mes amies. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord (and the Protective Mama).

Thinking of Mom and Dad, not here because of health problems. Life picking on them, nibbling away at the edges. They brush it away furiously like gnats at sundown. Dad should be here. The honeysuckle and privet release a toasted marshmallow aroma when you ride by on your bike. A bobwhite bird called in my yard in the morning; Dad’s favorite. The peaches are fist-sized, fleshy and yellow; Mom would love them. I had two today in anti-Atkins frenzy.

I’m a bride today, and I feel special. Even though I also thought of men in my past. Well, I’m human. I just do it when I’m bored. Minds can wander. Thoughts form, run wild, and stumble and lead us to learn about ourselves. They stoke the fire, sharpen our awareness and yearning. But home is here.

We all five ate at our favorite restaurant, Moby Dick’s in North Wellfleet, almost into Truro, way up Route 6 where it’s marshy and meadowy and scrubby. Nat ate his first French fry there, sixteen years ago. Tonight we all shared two desserts. We gorged on hot fudge and chocolate brownie.

Max and Ned went to see the sunset and take pictures; I danced in blue and white and gold and Ben and Nat watched The Adventures of Billy and Mandy together. Well, Ben watched it and Nat watched him. I don’t blame him; I think Ben is fun to watch, too.

The sky is almost completely dark, a deep sea blue stained at the very bottom with gold and pink, ocean meeting sand. My sons, blond, tan, and strong sit and draw and talk together, while the third stomps happily around the room, laughing softly. My husband of 23 years offers to read to Ben. Handsome and sexy, Ned still has the power to make me feel like he did back in our dorm days, like a crazed, sleepless, and lovesick teeanger. Random Universe, my eye.