A tan sedan backs out onto Rollingbrook Drive. The evening soundscape: the ting of a ping pong ball thudding the table before super-bouncing across the garage cement, the click-clack of the keys of my lap, the distant echo of a firework a few neighborhoods over. And cicadas—those alarming insect assholes I somehow forgot about. I must be getting used to their place in the background hum.
My belly is full—a bite of hot dog, a hamburger with Swiss and American cheese, pasta salad, and corn on the cob. I was seated next to Dave, with Evelyn between Aunt Cathy and Grandpa, and Grandma, Aunt Maria, Uncle Tim, Hudson, and Annaleigh sprinkled around the oval wooden table. I willingly over-peppered both the corn and the pasta. Just thinking about those dusty flecks of black pepper makes me want to sneeze.
I’m now sitting on the front porch of Dave’s parents’ house—the same one he and his siblings grew up in. It feels like something. The part of me that values stability, tradition, and a sense of transcendence gets a little hit of it here.
My parents, who married at 19, were on a similar track. So being here feels like a sliding door moment—a glimpse into a life that could’ve been, but wasn’t.
Will my stomach digest in time for dessert? With T-minus 30 minutes, I don’t care. Whether there’s room or not, I know I’ll eat whatever sweet goodness lands on my plate.
I’m tired. Thank goodness it isn’t New Year’s—just fireworks night. It’s the first year in a while I haven’t made a big effort to catch a good show. I feel a little bummed about that. But today there’s been pool volleyball, garage ping pong, and long conversations—dreaming about future trips and big plans that may or may not ever happen. All of it carries its own quiet weight of meaning and value.
I find myself trudging, like a kid rug-burning their knees down the hallway toward an unwanted bedtime. But in my case, I want the dessert. I’m ready.
I might just go ahead and sit myself at the table—waiting, hoping, wishing.
Happy 4th of July, everyone.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 