Because He likes To Do That
"We're going to the park," she says. I do not protest.
It is closer than I remember. Still too far to walk from home. We used to come here all the time, walking along the shoreline and sharing the tops of our sandwiches with the ducks. I know better than that now. I hope none of them forgot how to eat.
The grass is green and perfect. Our lawn has spots of beige and is too long in random spots.
Some trees hang over the water. I like the water, oh, that beautiful lake. And he likes the trees- so I climb onto one of them, because he likes to do that.
It's not much of a tree. The branches are cut off before any real climbing is involved. It looks dead, but I figure it needed a chance to regrow, anyway.
I sit and listen to the waves and the birds and the leaves. I examine the names written into the bark. Either there are lots of people named 'Cole' or he likes to write his name.
I take a peek at her. She sits there on the bench clutching her 'chica' cherry cola. I take a mental picture and