The thing is, we bought a car yesterday.
It’s adorable. After Sheepshead Bay and the coordinated pickup and purchase from the guy selling it on his grandma’s behalf, Brendan and I drove it back with the girls inside and parked it on our street. We busted out the disinfectant wipes and cleaned every nook and cranny. This is called detailing, girls! I called out from the front seat, the two of them giggling climbing over the back seat to get to the way back and back again. Brendan opening and closing each compartment, clicking the back seat down all the way, pulling up the net that is likely used for folks with a dog, but the girls decided it would be for when the cats rode with us in back. Pulling up the built-in booster seats that might actually work so we don’t have to buy another damn plastic thing to lift up the children for a few more years. This is our second home.
There’s a cd player, but what I’m most excited about is the tape player. It has a tape player. (Don’t worry. I still have tapes.) Last night I told B that I think we bought a tape player that we also happen to be able to drive.
I love this car. I really, really do. I’m calling it The Moonwagon. Not everyone is on board with the name. I don’t care. We’re all gonna live forever.
This morning, a quick trip to the beach in The Moonwagon. Baconeggandcheese sandwiches from the deli and away we went. The sand was damp from last night’s rain and all the tiny sharp pieces of shells had surfaced, poking at our feet as we walked toward the water. Cold water, freezing feet, small frozen baptism. The girls ran in and out of the high tide. They got their shorts wet, took them off. We ate our breakfast, all sitting in a row on a woven blanket I found on a stoop on my street.
It’s not easy right now. Not for anyone. I hesitate to write anything. I don’t know about timing or gravity or meaning-making. I think I need to keep going though, so I will.
Back into the Moonwagon and on the road again around 10:30am. (The tape deck works, by the way.) Belle and Sebastian on the way out, Cat Power on CD on the way back in. Yes, we still have all our cds.
I think I need to think of my work as action. As if I was a real actor, one who had studied acting more seriously than I took it — I’d say, what is my objective?
To lift — To carry — To shout —
Today, school was sign-making. Talking. By 1:15pm we were almost to Cadman Plaza, the helicopters above us, their persistent drone just so annoying. Everyone walking towards one place, streaming in like the ocean in reverse. Offers of water, snacks, kindness, a heaviness in the air. The gravity settling. The barometric pressure steady, a few raindrops landing on Pia’s poster. It’s ok, I told myself. No it’s not ok! she pleaded. It’s going to be messy!
We knelt in the soft grass with our hands up. We clapped and chanted over and over. I leaned on a tree, put both feet on the ground. There were thousands of us. We stayed for as long as the girls could handle, leaving just as George Floyd’s brother began to speak, and after the Mayor had been booed by the crowd.
I would’ve stayed longer. I would’ve walked the bridge in my sandals.
We got home and ate two popsicles each, watched a livestream of Terrence speaking on the phone’s screen.
At 9:15pm, flashing lights pass by the girls’ window. We hear the crowd, a little down the street still. A crew of people on bikes ride ahead, holding the line in front, so the cops can’t block the rest of the group. Hundreds of people march past my block. My whole family hangs out the one window we can look out of, the one we’ll use in case of a fire. The neighbors pop out too and we’re all clapping again, for the second time tonight. The protesters hear us holler and shout, they wave through the dark at us and I’m smiling. I’m with them too.