SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive�- RSS
Guestbook - Email - Diaryland

Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Monday, Feb. 20, 2017 @ 9:57 am
Because I Want To



I cycle across the Cambie Bridge, hair a windblown mess, helmet rattling around in the bin attached to handlebars.

I ride generally slower than everyone else. I like to look down at the water, at the sun glinting off the condo towers. The crows roosting in the few remaining scraggly trees. The people going to and fro across the bridge.

My eye catches a cyclist coming the other way. One second.. two seconds... and he's gone over my left shoulder. My mind took a polaroid of the cyclist's face. I pull it up in my memory. It fits into that shape burned in my retina. Chris.

One second later, I realize that he is wearing his new blue jacket, which absolutely confirms that it was him.

Why didn't I yell out?

I consider turning around to catch up with him. I do a quick mental calculation of our relative speeds, and the time that I need to turn around.

Why didn't I just risk it and yell out at him? Who would have cared if I were wrong?

I coast downhill on the far side of the bridge, my heart thumping. Chris.

I apply the brakes and weave between pedestrians. A man carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Flowers.

Fuck.

It's Valentine's Day.

I crank up the hill on the far side. Valentine's Day. I saw Chris, we crossed through each others auras, at 4:30pm on Valentine's Day.

I smile. I frown. I push into the pedals.

I laugh out loud. The world is so funny. How it loves to test me. To send me gifts like this. There is no chance, no happenstance. It's all there in front of me. Life.

Ten minutes later, I walk in the front door of the house. I pull a red satin bag from my purse and place it on the table in front of Daniel. It's the same gift every year - a pound of fancy coffee from a roastery that he's never heard of and a bar of dark chocolate.

Why do you do this? I never get anything for you.

I know. I do it because I want to.


Roots | Shoots