He knew it was temporary and he knew from past experience it was important: the weekend away. They hadn’t had one in a few years. It was 4:45pm according to the clock above his cubicle. The vast spreadsheet detailing the purchase and ownership of firearms was open on his computer covering two of his three screens. The clock now read 4:46. In a little over 10 minutes he would dash out the door and go and pick up Gillian, who had everything packed and they would be off for the airport for a weekend geographic cure to the tensions of their life. He knew Gillian needed the geographic cure even more than he did, but she was not one to plan these things. She was the one to be overly responsible to work, to kids, to parents, to siblings, to the neighborhood, to the house, to everyone but herself. And because of that, sometimes he lost track of the best parts of her.
Back when they got married his new sister-in-law gave him a carton of artificial stimulants and dryly made the comment: “Here, you are going to need these, believe me. The Vikings never rest. Welcome to the family and I wish you luck.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a circular reference error in Excel, dropped his thoughts and traced the route of the calculation.
The clock now read 4:48. Despite his wife’s overly responsible nature, he knew and loved the player inside of her, the singer, the lover, the goofball. He so missed that Gillian. He so wanted to be with her tomorrow at 11:30 am at Nepenthe looking over the beloved Big Sur Coastline. He wanted to spend the quiet night in the magic Deetjen’s. He wanted to wake up relaxed and late and for a moment: free. He wanted to see her smile in a state of joy, even if just for a weekend.
The Clock now read 4:50 and he heard the ding of a text arrival on his phone. He saw the message that he was dreading: “Special Dinner, Honey.” Special Dinner was the text they sent each other whenever they were going to have to change their plans to be together. It meant no date, or no party, or as in this case, no weekend away. Special dinner messages were not sent lightly. Something serious had to be wrong. In this case, their son came home from school with a 102 fever and that meant that her parents could not take care of our kids, and that meant that we would not be eating lunch at Nepenthe or sleeping at Deetjens, or letting our souls expand in the joyous ozone of the raging Pacific Coast.
Instead, they would have a special dinner. So, at 4:58 on the clock, David called the Inn Bin for their favorite take-out food and the Wine Loft for their favorite bottle of wine. The clock finally read 5:00. David closed Excel and shut down his machine. What are you going to do? The best-laid plans fail so often. You do what you can. In this case, Special Dinner is the consolation and the acknowledgment of life as is, along with a commitment to try again, as soon as possible, for a weekend away.
— DanielSouthGate
Back when they got married his new sister-in-law gave him a carton of artificial stimulants and dryly made the comment: “Here, you are going to need these, believe me. The Vikings never rest. Welcome to the family and I wish you luck.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a circular reference error in Excel, dropped his thoughts and traced the route of the calculation.
The clock now read 4:48. Despite his wife’s overly responsible nature, he knew and loved the player inside of her, the singer, the lover, the goofball. He so missed that Gillian. He so wanted to be with her tomorrow at 11:30 am at Nepenthe looking over the beloved Big Sur Coastline. He wanted to spend the quiet night in the magic Deetjen’s. He wanted to wake up relaxed and late and for a moment: free. He wanted to see her smile in a state of joy, even if just for a weekend.
The Clock now read 4:50 and he heard the ding of a text arrival on his phone. He saw the message that he was dreading: “Special Dinner, Honey.” Special Dinner was the text they sent each other whenever they were going to have to change their plans to be together. It meant no date, or no party, or as in this case, no weekend away. Special dinner messages were not sent lightly. Something serious had to be wrong. In this case, their son came home from school with a 102 fever and that meant that her parents could not take care of our kids, and that meant that we would not be eating lunch at Nepenthe or sleeping at Deetjens, or letting our souls expand in the joyous ozone of the raging Pacific Coast.
Instead, they would have a special dinner. So, at 4:58 on the clock, David called the Inn Bin for their favorite take-out food and the Wine Loft for their favorite bottle of wine. The clock finally read 5:00. David closed Excel and shut down his machine. What are you going to do? The best-laid plans fail so often. You do what you can. In this case, Special Dinner is the consolation and the acknowledgment of life as is, along with a commitment to try again, as soon as possible, for a weekend away.
— DanielSouthGate
This is beautiful. I love the idea of "Special Dinner" not as a consolation prize, but committment to try again
ReplyDeleteBoth these characters seem so human and loving. I really do wish them a weekend away soon! ---Macoff
ReplyDelete