a sad story of a truck

Sunday morning B-rad wakes me up. I smile. He lays beside me.

I shower, wash, brush, blow-dry, make-up, dress, perfume.

Breakfast of toast and juice. Sunday morning sessions with his cousins. We cuddle.

Leave immediately thereafter to weave through city traffic to find a park spot in the parking garage. Walk through rainy weather, eventually to end up in our seats.

Wonderful talks. 4 p.m. when it ends, B-rad is especially hungry. We discuss the invitation to eat dinner (spaghetti) with his extended family. The idea is uncomfortable. Let's just stop and get some popcorn and fruit? Okay, he says.

It's 5 p.m. once we finally make it back to the cousins'. His hunger feels insatiable. I feel scared. I finish changing and come downstairs. "We think we have B-rad convinced," they tell me. "I dunno about that...." I say. B-rad comes downstairs from changing. He looks at me. "I hope that's okay..." he says. I give him A Look.

We sit down. Spaghetti sucks. Toast sucks. Water sucks. You suck. I suck. I smile. They smile. We talk.

5:30 p.m. We exchange departing "Thank yous" and "Hope you'll come agains!"
In the car. B-rad: "I hope that was OK, I was so hungry!"

Silence for half an hour.

B-rad has tears on his face. His chin trembles uncontrollably.

I love him.