Mid-summer Saturday afternoons. Grass between my toes. Lying on a blanket, looking up at clouds. Watching my dog sleep. My jellybean. Nothing takes my rage out like my sweet jellybean.

Early this afternoon, I was half-heartedly playing computer games. A knock at the door. Murphy didn’t bark so I knew it was my jellybean. I opened the door. A bright smile. A picnic basket. “What are you doing here?” My hair was tousled. I was wearing trackpants, ripped in the crotch.

A wicked smile. “Taking you for a picnic lunch.” Murphy brightened, wagging her tail. “Don’t worry, you can bring Murphy.” Her wicked smile changed to sly — there is a difference. “Then it’s not cheating,” she said.

I put on shorts and wet my hair and fetched some food and water for Murphy. We found a beautiful sun-dappled spot in the park, a corner in the back just for us, just for me and my dog and my jellybean. Smoked salmon on dark rye. Strawberries. Very tasty. My jellybean even had cookie treats for Murphy.

“You look a lot better,” she said, after eating. She wasn’t talking about my shorts which were not ripped in the crotch. She meant I had calmed down a lot. I had. We talked about the crazy people she works with briefly.

Somehow, when we talk about me, all of my problems are funny. She does that. She makes all of my most serious problems seem really funny. It’s a real talent. She also had chilled mochachino in a thermos. Yum. And she even had an espresso brownie just for me.

After eating, we lay on her blanket, looking up at the sky, watching the clouds. She turned sideways to look at me, sun in her eyes, and squinting, asked me to recite one of her favorite poems I had written. Finished, she continued to look at the sky and without looking at me she said, “Mmm, I love that.”

At the end, when she was leaving, I said, “I miss you.” She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear the way she does and said, “Take care of yourself.”

SS