One of Those Things
She remembered the nearby precipice, the brambles needling through the red plaid blanket — a thin bedspread really — all-purpose in their car. She remembered begging him: pull over here, please — her body pulsing with a desire almost like pain — no one will see us. She remembered the release among barren pines, the ocean roaring below, the day coming into clear focus afterward, a California coast. Thirty years later they’d survived, as had the plaid spread, tucked into whatever car, now serving as a cradle for a potluck casserole, a bench pad at an outdoor concert. It came in handy, she remembered.
Photo credit: Paulo Valdivieso
Lovely story. Wonderful how the detail of the blanket moves through the years of their relationship. And, because they are together, it is still of use.
Excellent, Jackie!