Getaway

On the weekends we like to hop in the car and take a drive up through the farm country towards the mountains. We stop for apples along the way, some for snacking on our trip, others waiting to be peeled, cored, sliced, baked, and juiced. We pull of the main road for small towns with hand painted signs that read: BOOK SALE!, THRIFT, CORN DOGS & EXPRESSO $1, and FALL PIE FESTIVAL! We browse, smile, and search for treasures. We listen to stories and hover close to those who tell them. We make giddy noises and quick glances from across old attics when we find a steal. We come home and display our findings, meager but oh, so lovely, sitting on the table like golden trophies, proof that we can survive the drought. We nod and smile and brag of our twenty-five cent finds as if the other hadn't been there earlier that day to see such an honorable hunt rewarded. We make big pots of soup and sink down into the couch as the movie begins to roll. We sneak extra slices of apple pie as we work to decipher instructions on the 1970's boardgame we rescued from a throw away bin. We wake up and make coffee, one pot, two pots, a little orange juice, maybe cider, chilled, no ice. We scan the pantry and scrape the last of the mix into a bowl for pancakes and strawberry jam. We turn on the radio; we've heard those stories before. We turn on the music and turn it up, up, up, over the sound of the water running to clean the dishes, the men on the street, the clicking of the keys. We make grand promises of what we'll do before morning, when the week sneaks back to us, comes bounding in with Monday on its mind. We move some books from one table to another, sigh for lack of shelf space, and glance up at the clock, marking out in our minds the library opening, the time it will take us to walk the trail, the close of the public market that's hopefully holding the kale we'll prepare for dinner. Before bed we'll wonder where it all went, how days can fly faster than we can understand the concept of time, how it feels like we did nothing at all. We'll listen for the click and the whisper of the radiator to hum us to sleep and we'll work on the plan to make next weekend more successful.