C.E. Todd
2013
It was hot that late-August evening, the kind of hot that makes you wonder if you really could fry an egg on the sidewalk. I decided to check on my motorcycle, the one thing I can count on lately, and maybe go for a ride. I walked into the garage and, sure enough, there it was, just beckoning to me. Sleek, black, and decidedly not girly. Some, like Sandy, my checkout lady at Kroger’s, “just ain’t sure,” but frankly I wasn’t sure what they weren’t sure of. As I wheeled the three-wheeled motorcycle out of the garage, I smelled new mown grass. That’s one of the things about the dog days that I actually enjoy – that smell. As I look up, I spot Tom, the next door neighbor’s son and one other thing that I enjoyed about the dog days, or any other day, for that matter. His back glistened as he pushed the mower up a small hill. I paused to watch. There wasn’t much pleasure in my life lately. Glen, my husband, has thrown himself into his medical career, volunteering for extra rounds at the hospital. Things had been this way since they – well, he, actually – decided to try to have a family. I always wanted a family, but I just didn’t count on Dr. Metcalf being an unmitigated control freak. Thankfully, dear Dr. Metcalf’s swimmers weren’t swimming as well as he’d hoped, and since then, my life has been a bit more relaxed. Maybe the word is “routine.” There’s mud on the fender, so I needed to touch it up. My cutoff jeans and t-shirt would work fine for washing the bike, so I wouldn’t even have to change. I ran my hand under the garden hose as I filled the bucket, and then felt a sigh of relief as I wiped the hand over my sweaty forehead. I glanced at Tom again as he pushed the mower back up his lawn. His hair bounced in his face as he struggled up the hill. His back sparkled in the evening sun as he strained to push the lawnmower. His jeans hung seductively on his hips, not needing a belt. As Tom’s hips moved, and his jeans didn’t, I wondered if I’d be lucky enough that he might
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