Word Count: 264
John is the first one to leave in the morning, with a promise to call about what time he’ll be home from the office.
Darla hugs and kisses me goodbye; Jeff is too old for that now that he’s nine. Both carry backpacks of books and a lunch that includes cheese and an apple and a sandwich on whole wheat bread. Their snack is a chocolate flavored fiber bar and raw baby carrots that I’m certain they trade for potato chips if they can find someone willing.
I stand in the doorway and smile, shout “have fun!” and wave when they’re settled in by a window. The schoolbus drives away with a fart of black smoke and its rumble is lost up the street.
They are gone and my day is my own.
I clean up the kitchen, throw a load in the washer, shower and dress. Today I try out the blue eyeliner I bought on impulse and outline my eyes. I like the effect. I plan dinner and start something thawing on a refrigerator shelf. Wash and cut broccoli, scrub four potatoes, get everything ready in case I run late.
My bookshelves are loaded with classics as well as the latest New York Times bestsellers. This is the biggest decision of my day. The only one not left to routine. Colors and typeface and the name of the author all play a part in selection.
With a glass of iced tea within reach, I settle into my favorite chair, open my eyes and the book and I’m suddenly in Italy. Sometimes France.
