I have a silly memory of watching my Dad in the rearview mirror of his car on our drives up to Maine: His facial expression tensed, shaking his head, no doubt playing out scenarios in his head. At the time, I thought of him telling my mother off, or selling salmon to a client that wouldn't take that extra case off his hands.
We're not so different, except I'm in a field with the sun beating down on me, picking cucumbers, accepting the scrapes and needle pricks of their leaves. In the scenario inside my head, I'm not so fragile. It's all a part of working through these anxiety attacks. It's all part of tying up loose ends so I don't have to wonder what went wrong when I remember this years from now, in Tennessee, on a warm, Indian Summer's night.
We're in the river with our suits, swimming in circles against the current avoiding our naked bodies. We're laughing and playing and I miss them already, but I can't wait to grow.
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