/ Upland Game

We only quieted down when we got to the letter U.

“Unicorn?” he offered.

“That's good. But there has to be a real animal.”

“Tiger?” she said.

“That's good, too, sweetie, but we just did T.”

“Lion?”

“That's good, too, sweetie, but we need one for U.”

* * *

I am on a vacation of sorts. Last week, I just said, 'ENOUGH.' And I stopped working, and I started spending. Our garage is full of bicycles and bicycle trailers and maps and nonperishable food and cameras and sketch pads and elbow pads and frisbees and oil change receipts and exhortations.

If I cannot run, then I will rebel by riding, and each day's major event seems to augur a bigger spring than our expectations allow. On Monday we were chased by a dog. On Tuesday, we spied a pair of otters on the dock. Today we saw a couple of crows wrestling in the grass.

“They're not wrestling!”

“Lion?”

* * *

There is a bird in one of my books that has 'upland' in its name, but I can't think of it.

Unbelievably, I have nearly cut off my left index finger again, because when I try to relax I only succeed in testing my warranty.

“Back when I used to do this, I would immediately down a tumbler of whiskey, and oh, the pain disappeared. I could wash that wound out without flinching.”

“Now, I have to probe it and see and feel and understand at the same time, that it doesn't hurt, but it hurts. I don't want to think about it, mostly.”

“I have to jump up and down and clench my muscles and swear and be cognizant at the same time how I must appear.”

* * *

“When Mommy gets home she has to a*pol*o*gize to me. That means say sorry.”

This is a lesson I taught yesterday, without even referring to my user's manual, and I am sorry for it.

“I am sorry, sweetie. I am sorry you had to learn that.”

* * *

This was the week I was supposed to neglect responsibilities and loved ones and my health, and instead they have selfishly taken the lion's share of my time, especially these little urchins, with their easy-access buttons and sugary appetites and disarming forgiveness, anesthetized curiosities.

By the time my fuel runs out, I realize I am by myself for the first time in a week. Normally, it is like drowning, trying to get on so close to other people, and it is the vastness of this place that makes it impossible to leave. It is not their fault, in fact, it has been bearable these few days. It is not their fault, that they are so lifelike, that they wake us and demand to be fed, and I am kissed on the shoulder when I delay, even on my very own vacation.