Let's make a meal of the memory

We were walking past the hard-packed husks of snowmen, sad little gumdrop lumps in the grass reminding us of the weekend’s tromping around ankle deep in our pajama pants and winter coats. Now it was sunshine and more sunshine, the kind a weatherman would smile about with big teeth and a tan wizened face pretending at youth. Well, let him smile, then. I cast my lot with the snowmen.

Oh you’re such a dramatic was what she said while we walked, her breath showing, as if the words were drifting off behind us. The beautiful thing about all of this is how the barriers between word and thought and the insides of each of us kind of broke down after awhile. How I didn’t have to say things out loud. The grass looked especial in its greenness. She said special worked just as well and was half as pretentious. She said think about what you’re typing as you type it, because you tend to overwrite.

I thought of a picture I’d seen once, a girl spitting a glass of water out in front of her toward the camera like a sprinkler in the late-day sun, colorful and strange and great. I wondered what it would be like to make a rainbow on command like that, whenever you wanted. She opened her mouth to talk and there it was, light refracting all around us in a million billion directions, ROYGBIV all over the place. I couldn’t help but smile.