A Perfect Day




I awaken before the alarm. Morning hangs low to the ground and the sun gleams a golden strip on the eastern horizon. I pull on clean sweats. A glance in the mirror tells me it is a good hair day. A second glance surprises me even more—the years have fallen away along with the extra weight I’ve carried. I feel light and energetic. Warm air touches my unlined face as I leave the house. Sparrows twitter in the birch tree and loons call from the lake as I sniff the fresh smell of brand-new day. Usually I huff and puff after only one ride around our block but today I round twice on my red Pee-Wee-Herman’s-Big-Adventure bike and notice my breathing still easy, my legs strong enough to run a marathon. It’s light by the time I turn on my computer. Suddenly the short story that for months has strangled my brain, makes perfect sense and falls into sequence, effortlessly and seamlessly. My concentration is amazing, my perception clear. It is noon before I notice the time. I print out my first draft. It’s good—I can feel it. I decide to take my bike for another spin but stop to grab an apple from the table. Where has my appetite gone? One apple is all I want. All I need. The mailman stops at the end of the driveway. I find an acceptance letter from Picador Publishing. They want my novel! My heart nearly bursts. “Mommy! Mommy!” Baby voices call me and my three children, small again, run toward me. Faith and Nathan grab my legs and cling to me. I gasp in surprise and the letter flutters to the ground, unnoticed. Beth’s plump feet toddle through lush grass, her blonde curls pinned back with pink barrettes. She steadies herself with both arms but loses balance and plops at my feet, grinning two bottom teeth. I scoop her up in my arms and nuzzle the sweetness of her neck. Nathan and Faith hold hands and jump up and down. “Did you see the baby walk, Mommy? Did you see her?” We tumble in the grass, play peek-a-boo and hide-and-go-seek, blow a whistle from a blade of grass. Nathan discovers a wooly caterpillar among the milkweeds and holds it on the flat of his hand. Wonder transforms his face. Faith sings The Farmer in the Dell while Beth wiggles her body in rhythm. Our giggles block the loon sounds from the lake, the world on hold as we snuggle and tickle once again. Sweaty hands clutch bouquets of short-stemmed dandelions, kisses sweet with milky breath. I want to stop the sun from riding through the sky, to hold this perfect moment forever. But the afternoon fades into evening and the sound of loons again fills my ears. I turn to touch them again but the children are gone, their voices fading in the distance. Nighthawks swoop mosquitoes in the dusk. A whippoorwill trills its never-ending call. I stoop to gather a single pink barrette from the grass. My jowls sag. Heavy feet plod to the empty house. I feel the weight settle back on my bones.