Windmills

I'm supposed to go to Summerton with Jay today. He's got a film opening tonight. I decided not to go to the library this morning. I'm trying to download software (unsuccessfully so far) for my printer. It's taking forever.

One of the effects of the synthroid I just started taking is that at 5am I wake up wholly. No sleepiness, no cuddling the pillow. Up and out. I feel like I'm on fire. Bam. So up I went, took the damn little pill and, since I have to wait 30 minutes after taking it before I put anything in my stomach, sat zazen.

The sun rose while I was sitting. Purple and wine and gold. "Oh my goodness," I said, staring at it through the cobwebs framing my kitchen window, slurping my cafe con leche.

"I know!" Lilly yells from her bedroom. "It's wonderful."

"You're up?"

"I have to get to school early to finish my lab. I need every minute, mom. So we have to get out of here on time." She admonishes.

Back home, I decide to take a walk. I walk through the meandering black-topped streets of our neighborhood. It's overcast, but it's beautiful. The dogwoods are in bloom, they float like laughter. The redwoods line the streets, armfuls of lilacs. I love lilacs. When I was little, I used to climb out of the bathroom window at the lab school and sneak out and sit under the big lilac bushes in front and read. Hello, you've arrived, the lilacs say. You're on shore. You're safe. Welcome to life. Summer's coming. School will be out soon.

I walk through my old neighborhood, where I grew up. Down by the creek and over onto the trail they made out of the railroad tracks. It's the same walk I've taken for 35 years, rails or no. During my walk, on the way home, I become convinced that Jay is going to blow me off. He won't show up. What a bastard! I think. Four years and he just blows me off like this. I want to cry. But I won't, I tell myself. I'll just never ever speak to him again. I feel so wronged, so scorned as I walk. This beautiful spring--how could he treat me like this? The lilacs smell like regret now and betrayal.


April 23rd's a hard day for me. 3 years ago, Jay did break up with me on April 23rd. He just stopped calling. I didn't do anything. Just stopped speaking to him. "We need to talk" he said finally, after not calling for seven days. He left a message on my voicemail. "I'm just not ready for a relationship. When can we meet?" But I wouldn't meet him. Wouldn't return his calls Why talk about it? It was done. Then we ran into each other a few weeks later and started dating again as if nothing had ever happened. We never mentioned it. But, man, that was a hard three weeks.


That same day, an ex of mine, Lewis, someone I'd fallen really hard for, called. Out of the blue. "I have a new bike," he told me. "Want to try it out?" Well, of course. I'd been lying face down on the bed crying. It was colder on that April 23rd. But still just as beautiful. He showed up on this beautiful cherry red Victory motorcycle. I hadn't seen him in two years. I'd grown up with him. He's a few years younger than me. The fat kid. He's a detective now. We rode around all afternoon, barely speaking. Over the blacktops throughout the county. My fingers were numb after the ride. We sat on the rickety bench in my front yard under the redbud with him rubbing my hands between his, still not talking. While we were sitting there, my cat came running across the yard with a baby rabbit in its mouth. I yelped and rescued it. "What do I do?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "It's not going to make it." He said.

"It might make it."

"Always taking in strays, Haley," he said, shaking his head. Then he left. Last time I ever saw him.

On my walk today, I found a whole robin's egg in the gutter. I picked it up very carefully, cradling it in my hands to keep warm. Maybe there's a baby bird still in it! The rest of the walk was about the egg, warming it, wondering about whether it was possible to hatch it, worrying about not dropping it or breaking it. I stopped thinking about Jay, I just wanted to get the egg home. I stopped smelling the flowers or listening to the creek or noticing the spring.

Home, I found some old pantyhose, made a nest out of it, and put it on top of my Baldwin Acrosonic under a lamp.

Jay walked in the door. "What is that?"

"It's a robin's egg! I found it on my walk. Do you think it will hatch?"

"It might...what on earth are you going to do with a baby bird if it does? You have to feed them like every three minutes."

"I haven't thought that far. Carry it in my scrubs?"

He just laughs. "Did you know it's Cervantes' birthday today?"