i crossed the street holding my son’s hand. there was no cross walk, so we ran and it struck me that there was almost no end to our hands. when he looked at me and we just seemed to stare at each other, i was sure he was thinking the same thing. i have a constant guard against the outside world when i am with my children. a fierce reign over my protectorate, a sense of invulnerability and total insurmountable domination which i definitely don’t have if i am not with them.
we went up the sidewalk to the bank where he helped me use the atm. it was guys’ night out and we were in the tiny hamlet of fairfax; we live on the edge of this town they call “mayberry on acid.” the grateful dead lived here, dian fossey of gorillas in the mist fame, frank herbert who wrote dune, the current national poet laureate, kay ryan, the miwok tribe and so many more. there are infinite little stories baked into the infrastructure. it is an excellent place to live.
we pass the ice cream store which has been closed for the last two months. the owners and their young kid travel the world sampling handmade ice cream once a year. now it’s open with a line at night in the middle of winter, because it’s 63 degrees (apologies to the midwest). everything is local in this town: local milk for the ice cream, local greens for the salads, local poultry & eggs and local weed for the kids hanging in the park.
jake got to pick dinner, we are on our way to grilly’s for a brc with chicken. then we cross the street and get dessert at the coffee shop. they’re playing a peter tosh album that i listened to every day for a month when i was 14. i almost mention this to the young girl behind the counter and realize the banality of it. there is a muttering of agreement about the carrot cake and jake and i are off. back to the car and into the house, we watch a movie.
after, we lie in bed together and talk about jedi, constellations and spanish and how our dog came into the room, farted and then left because it was so bad. we are having a sleepover in my bed tonight. i leave the door open on my way out and look forward to returning. and to waking up in the morning (or the middle of the night) with him gripped to my arm or kicking me in the stomach.