She’s 23. Her Brother, 22.
He orders a Tom Collins, and gets carded. She, a Zinfindel. Dad, a tall ice water. “Sparkling, or Flat for you Sir?” “Tap, Miami’s finest please.” After dinner cocktails in a hotel bar, with of-age children. Embrace the memories, block the melancholia. I fail, it seeps in and then overwhelms me, water around stone.
It’s a quiet Friday night. The Sushi Chef leans on the glass case and flirts with the cocktail waitress. She’s wearing a smart black skirt and jacket. On the other side of the bar, middle aged lovers huddle, whispering.
A one-man band blows on an electronic wind instrument, alternating with a brass trumpet with a black trumpet cap. His supporting cast, multi-colored bars flashing on a laptop and pumped out of tall, thin, floor standing speakers. He sways to and fro, lips pursed on reed. The Chill music hangs, a sweet fine mist over the valley. One could drop this, all of this, in Ramblas in Barcelona, in Gastown in Vancouver or the Dièse Onze in Montreal. Vibe, Same.
The eyelids are heavy, barbells. The body, from its all day soak in the sun, the wind, and the ocean salt, aches for rest.
I watch them leave together, bar hopping. She leans into him with her shoulder, they laugh. How many times in their lifetimes? Hundreds of times where Mom, and Dad, the Heavy, broke up skirmishes, and worse. Salter’s Light Years: “Passing of life together, a compact that will never end…lives formed together, woven together.” And Parents stitching, braiding, weaving it all in the hope of This. Look, This, a tapestry. Full body warmth rushes in.
I ride the elevator up. Melancholy, a Tsunami now.
I turn in, and surrender.
∴ ∴ ∴
It’s 1:15 a.m. They aren’t back yet.
With Eyes closed, the Rat works the Inside, sniffs and then gnaws at worst case scenarios. I pull the covers up, chilled.
1:25 a.m. They aren’t back yet.
1:35 a.m. Nothing.
1:42 a.m.
I hear fumbling at the door with the key. And then giggling. The door opens, loud whispers.
“Dad, why are you up?”
The Rat releases. The body surrenders and drifts off.
Rest, children. Rest.
Notes:
- Illustration: Pascal Campion
- Related Posts: Family
Live & Learn 
Well said and I know that feeling all too well!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Kevin. A blood line that all Parents share, I’m sure.
LikeLike
You have a wonderful way of using words to evoke motions that we all feel, but can rarely express; thanks for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Jim. I appreciate the kind words.
LikeLike
Precious 🙂
ALL of it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Sawsan.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I remember my mom waiting up for us at all hours of the night. And it will never end . . . that waiting up.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It won’t Maralee. No it won’t end.
LikeLike
Beautifully limned, pal, as always. I don’t have children, but been experiencing this from the *other* side with *my* parents. These days, anytime they get ready to go on a trip, I want them calling before they leave and when they get there, telling me where they’re staying, making sure they have their cell phones, the whole nine yards. And every once in a while, I catch myself in ‘mid lecture,’ and realize, “Ahhhh, yes, THIS is what they were talking about when I was growing up….
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiling, I understand. I do.
LikeLiked by 1 person
P.S. And I love nothing more than a night like this with my brother. Those sibling bonds are special ones….
LikeLiked by 1 person
They are Lori. Like nothing else. Appreciate your Brother taking the time to help Eric.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Know the feeling! The imagination feeds the anxiety. That’s the trouble when you love someone. But not to have them to worry about would be worse.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Truth!
LikeLike
Any of us with kids totally get it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
We all do Lulu. We do.
LikeLike
Exactly. Well said, thanks for that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiling. Thank you Jamie.
LikeLike
Every single night.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can relate. They have no idea how many times we wake up wondering about them. It’s all part of the parents DNA.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hardwiring. It is Bim.
LikeLike
no need for melancholy, this is the stuff that dreams are made of, kids grown and strong, having grown stronger together. sleep in peace. )
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes…Safe and in Peace.
LikeLike
I still worry about my kids when they leave and go to their own homes, on their own way. And they are 32 and 26. It never ends.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It doesn’t Claudia. Like Breathing.
LikeLike
I remember my Mum waiting up for me and now I am doing the same for my two!!. It’s great they can go out together and enjoy each other’s company. You are always tired? Now I know why ha 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiling. Yes! And again last night!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Parents + that gnawing worst case scenario. An eternal equation. ❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiling. Truth.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“And Parents stitching, braiding, weaving it all in the hope of This. Look, This, a tapestry. Full body warmth rushes in.” – Simply BEAUTIFUL. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awwww. Thank you Carol.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah David, exquisite, and it never ever ends. Even from the other side of the Pacific Ocean, I wait for them to check in, the Rat always present , especially when a gentle query goes unanswered. .. And the melancholy a bare half heartbeat away..
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Makere. It never ends. (Thank you!)
LikeLike
1. Children. One of the smartest things I never did. Neither they nor I would survive the Rat without serious harm.
2. Your kids’ friendship is a miracle.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiling. Not sure how I found you or you found me, but I’m blessed and find you an inspiration. Authenticity bleeds over. Every comment. Full stop.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Gosh darn it! There you go being sweet again. Cut that crap out!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Laughing Helen.
LikeLike
Perfect imagery, David. And familiar.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Helen.
LikeLike
Blissful. Lovely story. Thank you for singing, David.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Vicki.
LikeLike
As I experience a shift toward ‘closer’ with my sibs… this means a great deal. Thank you, David.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So glad. Thanks Carrie.
LikeLike