Juli: The Visit
Sunday mornings are peaceful in our house. My father lets himself sleep in. My mother lets herself not fix breakfast.
And if my brothers have been out late playing with their band, you won’t even know they’re around until noon.
Usually I tiptoe out to collect eggs while everyone else is asleep, then spirit a bowl of Cheerios back to my room to have breakfast in bed and read.
But that Sunday—after spending most of the night feeling upset or uneasy—I woke up wanting to do something physical.
To shake off the confused way I was still feeling.
What I really needed was a good climb in my sycamore tree, but I settled for watering the lawn while I tried to think of other things.
I cranked open the spigot and admired how rich and black the dirt looked as I sprinkled back and forth across the soil.
And I was busy talking to my buried seedlings, coaxing them to spring up and greet the rising sun, when my father came outside.
His hair was damp from a shower, and he had a grocery sack rolled closed in his hand.
“Dad! I’m sorry if I woke you.” “You didn’t, sweetheart. I’ve been up for a while.”
“You’re not going to work, are you?” “No, I… ” He studied me for a moment, then said, “I’m going to visit David.”
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