Sprinkler

Sitting out on the plaza watching a couple share a scone thinking maybe the sun might lighten my hair. But I dunno, maybe they're not a couple. When I share my food with you it means something. This is not always understood.

A ginger tyke splashes in the water fountain. "Trev?" I'd know your voice anywhere. I'd know it in silence.

"Hey, Lucy," I tell you, "pull up a chair." I point to our matching coffee cups. "Thought that was you."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"What if I was wrong?"

We enjoy these fleeting summer moments. Soon enough the season will be in its death throes, the nights hacking out autumn wind as the sun goes down. But for now we are warm and happy and she even takes off her cardigan and God help me.

"What are you drinking?" I ask.

"Americano, duh," she says and, yes, I probably should have known that. Somewhere I probably did.

"Black coffee," we say together and we smile. I hide mine, though, my real one. It's gotten hotter.

"I wish I could be like him," I say. The little red-headed boy. "Playing in a public fountain, look how happy he is. Remember sprinklers?" She nods. "Simple. That's it, isn't it? Simple."

"You could get a sprinkler," she says. And put it in what. My landlord small front yard? No, a sprinkler needs a yard, a proper yard, you need room to run, to gear up. "Well, get a place with a yard."

"I can't just get a place with a yard."

"Why not? You want a sprinkler. Get your sprinkler." I want to tell her that her shoulders will get sunburned. "Let's figure out what it'll take to get that sprinkler."

"Maybe," I say. "Another time." The coffee's gotten hotter, too, if that's possible. In a few hours, when the sun goes down, it would be perfect. If only it didn't keep me up. "Oh, hey," I get a muffin from my bag. "You want this? I bought it but..."

She smiles, takes it, has a bite. Blueberry, sugar on top, she eats from the bottom just how I do. We both watch the boy, the ginger, this kid, and for a second it seems like he's alone and maybe it even seems like he's ours. I keep that question to myself and his mother whisks him away.

She gets up, hugs me, "I have somewhere to be." She wants me to call her, she's serious about the sprinkler, but it hurts too much and I hate myself.

"I'll call," I say. There isn't a cloud in the sky. It's blue all over. You couldn't even tell it's gonna get real cold real soon.