It's All All Right

I wake up later than I mean to. Do I still have to run today? It's almost when most take lunch. But I figure, yes, I can't stop now. So I lace my shoes, eat a banana and drink just enough water and leave. It's hot but not unbelievably so, and the music in my ears keeps my motivation high and my breathing steady. When I get back I know I'm supposed to have protein so I make eggs. I get in the shower and shower and dress and after I look at the to do list I made the night before. I thought it would help me get things done. I pick it up and look it over, thinking about which of these is the easiest to do and I remember that I can cross off "run." That's good enough for me, and I go out for coffee.

Construction crews have finally packed it up. They tore up my street and made it new, apparently only saw fit to repair the southern half, which is the half I live on so it's fine by me. I don't drive though so I guess it doesn't matter. What does matter is the speed bump they didn't replace. People get into a little residential area and there's no limit so they breeze on through, but they know better. There were two bumps before which helped to alleviate some of the problem. Sometimes cars would slam on the brakes before one and, not expecting the other, race right over it. You'd hear a great scrape, which if you have to put up with these things is the least you can ask for. But now there's just the one and I'm thinking of writing the alderman to ask, hey, what's going on.

I'm walking back with coffee and I hear children screaming. I glance over to the fenced in playground to make sure that's where it's coming from. It is. School's out for summer and the children are everywhere. They're fun-screaming, their parents are letting them, because they're there to watch and they know it's all all right.

Yeah, I look at that and I want to return. Climbing up and sliding down, chasing girls, tag and Cowboys and Indians, whatever you want to be. Mom probably has snacks in her purse, dizzy on the tire swing, can we have a sleepover and stay up watching Star Wars and eat frozen pepperoni pizza. Nap in the car, you were running so hard, you were screaming so loud. I'm smiling at them. I try not to look too much or smile too hard, I don't want to appear that way. But I'm smiling at them, at myself, all the same.

By the time I get back I've decided to knock "vacuum" off next. Nothing wrong with tackling the things that can keep me at home. Right on cue, a taxi zooms through the street, like he was off to save a life. I take out the vacuum and put on a record. Nothing cuts through the motor and suction like Dizzy Gillespie. The trumpet soars and almost makes it fun. I'm trying to make these things fun, but it's the kids who have the right idea.

Maybe it does have to do with saving lives. Maybe two speed bumps on one little street is too many. Maybe the police or the firemen need less so they can get to where they need to go. That almost starts to make sense in my mind, but stops. No. Doesn't make any sense. But it was a decision. It must have been. The city wouldn't've  ripped up a speed bump and not put it back down because, oops, we forgot, sorry about that. I'm seriously thinking of writing my alderman.

At first I don't know what it is, it's hard to sort through the cacophony: cymbals and keys and brass, squawking and bright and loud, the motor, the roar and the sucking. Everything is clashing together and then I can hear them, the children, their screaming. You get to the point where you hear a child scream and you think nothing of it. Children screaming, outside having fun, playing tag or Cowboys and Indians, being whatever they want to be. That's what it is. And then there is the peel of tires, a screeching, there are so many screeches coming from so many places. I turn off the vacuum and pull off the needle and there is a woman's voice, a mother, and her scream pierces through it all.