Three Reads

May tenth. The letter came in a stack of nothing, a utility notice, a circular I didn't ask for, and then this. I almost put it on the counter to deal with later the way I do with anything that requires a decision. I didn't. I opened it standing up, still in my coat, which is how I know I already suspected something.

I won't say yet what it was. I'm aware that's a slightly annoying choice. But there are things that need to live in the lag for a little while before they're ready for the page, I've written about this enough that I think you know what I mean. What I can say is that by the time I'd read it the third time, leaning over it on the counter like it might change if I looked at it from a slightly different angle, I felt something I can only describe as quietly hopeful. Not giddy. Not resolved. Just, open. The way a window feels when you've pushed it up an inch and the air starts to move.

The second read.

Gerald put out another new leaf sometime this week. I only noticed because I was standing at the counter for an unusually long time. The vine has reached the edge of the shelf now, past the collapsed bowl, past where I thought it would stop. There's a thing about plants that grow while you're not watching, they don't announce the decision, they just keep going. I'm choosing to read that as relevant today. I'm allowed to do that.

The letter is still on the counter. I haven't put it away yet. I think I'll know what to do with it by morning.