The Second Bag Was Mine

June twenty-eighth. I want to be clear that I almost didn't go.

Simone texted at five-forty-seven on a Thursday, just the address, then 'outdoor movie starts at eight, bring a layer.' That was the entire pitch. And my first instinct, which I am not proud of, was to start composing the polite version of no in my head. I had been home from a shift for an hour. There was leftover pasta. The couch was right there. You know the version of yourself who shows up and does that. I know her too.

But I went. I grabbed the sundress off the back of the chair because it was the closest thing, put on sandals, and left before I could renegotiate with myself. By the time I got to the park the string lights were on and someone three blankets over had a speaker going and Simone was already sitting in the best spot with a plaid blanket and the kind of expression that said she had not doubted for a second I would show.

the kettle corn negotiation, in progress

We got kettle corn from the cart at the edge of the lawn, I want the record to show that I deliberated over the menu for an embarrassingly long time while Simone had already paid, and then we sat through a movie I had seen once before and half-remembered, which turned out to be exactly the right amount of familiarity for a Thursday in late June.

she already knew what she wanted. I did not.

The second bag of kettle corn was my idea. Simone looked at me like she was going to say something and then didn't. That's the thing about a yes when you almost said no, it tends to go longer than you planned, in the best possible direction. I keep meaning to take the camera somewhere with intention and somehow I keep ending up somewhere unintentional with good light. The string lights were very good light.