The Shift Ended Eventually

June twenty-fifth. Nine hours. That is how long the shift was, and I want that number on the page before anything else because it explains everything that comes after.

Simone and I walked out at almost the same moment, which happens maybe once a week, and we stood beside my car for a while without really deciding to. That is the best description I have of how it went. She leaned against the door. I leaned. The parking lot lights were doing their thing, that particular amber that makes everything look slightly warmer and more significant than it is. We said a few things. Nothing that needs transcribing. At some point one of us held up a phone and we were photographed, though I couldn't tell you who made that decision or why.

Leaning on the car because the car was there.

Something she said made me laugh eventually. I know this because there is photographic evidence. I have no memory of what it was, which feels right, the jokes that land at the end of nine hours are usually not repeatable in daylight. They are jokes that belong specifically to the parking lot and the pole lights and the version of you that has been on her feet since the morning.

Whatever she said, it landed.

I drove home with the windows down because it was still warm enough that the night air was worth having. I got back and made something simple for dinner. Gerald had his corner of light going on the windowsill. The second new leaf is still there. Everything was where I left it, which is one of the quieter things I am grateful for right now, in a summer that keeps asking me to notice the small stuff.