Dusk sits just below the horizon.
A waning sun robs the evening air of warmth, allowing autumn’s fingers to slide under jambs and between panes. Candles, as she walks through the house lighting them, thwart their progress.
Music plays; good music, new music, soulful music, punctuating the air with an invitation to dance.
And she does. As she peels shrimp; tossing their casings into a pan. As she chops vegetables, and chooses seasonings. As she sips…
The slamming of the door accentuates a guitar chord, and she moves to the window.
She watches as he stands, helmeted; his college-style jersey swallowing his mesh shorts. On his feet, two different shoes, one white, and one black; in homage to a game they watched together, the day before.
“The kick is up….and it is good!” The crowd roars!
He trots in the opposite direction in his mismatched shoes; chest out, arms raised. He hears the roar of the crowd. He feels the admiration of the fans. And, as he returns to his imaginary sideline, he shoves his helmet to the top of his head, not totally off, and definitely not on, in admiration of Sunday’s warriors.
And she smiles, and gives silent thanks for all that is hers.
© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll
Are We There Yet? 
