Arrive at park.
Notice a guy folding up an orange blanket and looking like
he is going to leave.
Walk to my usual spot, on the hill, underneath the tree, just
far enough away from the bench. Set my bag down and take out my maroon, plaid
blanket.
Guy wanders aimlessly away from me through the park. I try
to ignore him.
Call my mom. Chat about the difficulty of meeting new
people.
Guy comes back around and passes me while I talk to my mom.
He takes a seat on the bench. Pretends to read. How do I know he is pretending?
Too much page flipping and nervous energy emanating off of him. I end the call
with my mom and decide to draw.
Draw the swing set. Modify it because I don’t want four
swings, just two. It’s an ok sketch, but not wonderful.
Pull out my journal of short stories and start reading the
next story – it’s about a soldier.
Think I hear a cicada and remember that I had the same thought
when I entered the park. Just one cicada. And then it is gone. Probably not a
cicada. Regardless the noise makes me miss Korea. Weird to miss Korea because of
an imaginary cicada.
Distracted from the story about the soldier, I start trying
to draw a cicada. I only saw one up close once. It was so LOUD. Deafening.
Weird ancient looking creature. What did it look like? How big were its wings? I
attempt to sketch one.
It looks like a fly.
Try again.
It looks like a fly.
Try again.
Give up. The google will help me when I get home.
Start writing another letter to my friend in Navy Basic. The story about the soldier made me think of him.
Start writing another letter to my friend in Navy Basic. The story about the soldier made me think of him.
I was lying on my stomach, but now I am sitting. Criss-cross
apple sauce, as my students like to say.
“WHAT ARE YOU WRITING?”
I had forgotten about the guy. He is obviously yelling his
question to me, but I can be cold at first. I roll my eyes. He can’t see my
face. I ignore him.
He comes over. Starts a conversation.
“What are you writing?”
“A letter – archaic form of communication, I know.”
Fuck. That was pretentious. I am pretentious for the rest of
the conversation.
He offers me a spritzer – I am unclear what that even means.
I like sparkling water and assume it is similar.
“It’s sparking water and juice.”
“Seems French.”
I continue to be pretentious – I don’t even
know why at this point. He is from Seattle. He is not wearing shoes. His
Ray-Bans shield his eyes from my pretentiousness. The things I talk about are ridiculous
for a conversation with a stranger. Somehow I am talking about refugees and
Boise’s public transit and geography. I mention Russia and Korea.
I am an ass.
He is polite – talks about the Payette, his love of Idaho, asks me about my
plans for the weekend. I look at my phone, vaguely talk of movie plans.
He tells me to enjoy the movie and makes his move to leave.
It is a bit of an awkward parting.
“Take care!”
He grabs his orange blanket and book from the bench. Walks
past me through the park.