here i am.
minnesota. we meet again.
i have come to greatly dislike being asked why i am here.
no, it is not exciting. and no, i do not want to talk about it. not now.
i am processing.
contemplating the many mysteries.
i’ve spent so much of the past four years just talking, talking, talking. listening, listening, listening.
now is the time to absorb.
like a sponge.
like a life sponge.
i have, for the most part, taken over my father’s job as a landscaper.
his cancer has made him tired.
exhausted, as a matter of fact.
cancer makes people feel exhausted.
so i trim, water. trim some more.
not so much for me. for the sake of doing something that might mean something to him.
to have control over a part of his life.
because i cannot control his cancer.
it’s nice, actually.
the job, that is.
not having to talk to customers. to just watch them, the many families.
they seem so sweet, so innocent. just walking around, living their lives.
the civility of it all.
i do not directly facilitate their experience.
no, no, no. not me. not now.
i observe them silently behind the safety of my sunglasses.
imagine what the children’s lives will be like as they grow up.
the lives of the parents.
all that led them there.
they all have their own stories, but i don’t mind much.
i can create whatever pasts, presents or futures i want for them.
without a single word being spoken.
i smile when i feel like it.