Struck it rich …

… dirty rich

– Joan Armatrading, I’m Lucky


{image is a photo of Katie in all her TARDIS-blue glory (more detail in the body of the post)}

Wednesday night …

Katie and I are driving back home from the mall. It’s getting late, but the midsummer days are still long and the light lingers far later than it soon will.

I chuckle as she snaps a selfie for a friend, showing off the TARDIS-blue lips and nails that will accessorize her dress for Comic Con in a couple of days.

I ask her to send me the snap. She promises me she will.

She turns the radio up and dances in her seat.

“Everyone hates this song,” she says, “but I like it.”

Nah, nah honey I’m good, I could have another but I probably shouldn’t.

“I like this song,” I say, “it’s just overplayed.”

We sing together.

One of us is on key.

She’s nice enough not to comment.

I’ve got somebody at home and if I stay I might not leave alone.

Nah, nah honey I’m good, I could have another but I probably shouldn’t.

I gotta bid you adieu, to another I will stay true.

I note my pride in knowing the lyrics well enough to sing along. I realize that said pride is a sure sign that I am, officially, no longer cool. I glance at my girl, her long, thick hair dancing in the wind as she belts the chorus, and decide that I’m good with that. Cool is no longer the point. If it ever was.

As I reach for my iced tea from the cup holder, the straw snaps. The air whistles through it when I take a sip.

“Dang it!” I say.

Katie asks what happened.

“Oh, no big deal,” I say, “my straw broke. It’s just annoying.”

“Take mine,” she says.

I tell her how sweet it is that she offered, how very much I appreciate it, but refuse to take it. “Why would I take yours?” I ask. “Then you’d have a broken straw, silly goose.”

As I watch the road, I catch her silently swapping them out of the corner of my eye.

I grin.

“You’re driving,” she says in mock defiance. “You can’t look down to switch em back.”

“Rascal,” I say.

I drive.

She dances in her seat.

“I’m glad you’re my mom,” she says.

I smile. “I’m glad you’re my kid,” I say.

“If I had another mom,” she continues, “I’d punch her in the nose and go find you.”

I laugh.

“I mean, unless she was nice. Like if it was Alysia or someone like that. Then I’d say, ‘You’re awesome and thanks for everything, but I have to go find my mom.’ Cause I’d know you were out there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “Much better than violence.”

She chuckles. “If you had a different kid, I’ll bet you wouldn’t say anything. You’d just take care of her. But you’d still come find me.”

“Yeah,” I say, “I don’t think I’d punch her in the nose. Not really my style.”

“Yeah,” she says, “not so much.”

We laugh.

I drive.

I sip my tea from an unbroken straw.

And wonder how the hell I got so lucky.


7 thoughts on “lucky

  1. You did, however, get really lucky. Katie is an amazing person. But we really know, it’s not all luck❤️

    Love you,

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