vegetables in a school lunch

The Gift of Ordinary

I made Nick’s lunch. He looked at it, then emptied similar uneaten items from yesterday’s lunch, only the fruit and vegetables, into the garbage. He looked at me and packed the new lunch into his insulated bag. Insulated. I opened a can of wet cat food and fed the cats. They didn’t eat it, just stared at the bowl and then at me, in unison. Stared. I fed the dog. He ate some of it and then went to the door and asked to be let out. I let him out. It was raining. He stood under the eaves on the deck and gazed up the hill into the darkness. When did it get so dark as I made breakfast and lunches in the morning? I missed so much when I was sick. I tried to see what he was looking at. I didn’t see anything but darkness. The rain. He came back inside. He burped. Then, he stood by the door and asked to be let out. I ignored him. Now, he’s lying on the couch, staring at the side of my head.

I made my smoothie. I didn’t complain about it. I didn’t glare, stare, or gaze in another direction in hopes of something better. My smoothie was ordinary. It was perfect. I was the only one who saw that through the darkness.

Thank you for listening, jules