Yesterday Morning

I spin slowly beneath the patterns of pear tree branches drawn upon the back porch. I lift my head against the thick air of Virginia summer and look around. The not-yet-ripe pears swing back and forth in a calm June breeze. My cheap, dark sunglasses slide down my nose as I tilt my head even further back to rest my head against the back of my swivel chair. I drum my fingers on the tiled surface of the table and breathe deeply in. My exhale comes out as a sigh. I love how everything smells after it rains. I can feel the coolness of leftover raindrops seeping through my jeans and the back of my thin button-down shirt, but I don't care. I cross my legs, close my eyes and cradle my coffee mug, silently wondering whether I could sneak a cigarette while Dad is out. He only just left a minute ago. I could pop inside and... maybe not. Henry and Alex will be home soon. Wouldn't want to smell like nicotine.
I take another deep breath, enjoying the clean air, banishing the thought of ruining it with smoke.

Boomer, my ten-year-old miniature poodle, is sprawled out in the concrete, soaking up the dappled light. I smile and shake my head at him.

"You've got it all figured out, haven't you?" I ask him, "Not a care in the world."

He's too tired to lift his head to look at me, the source of noise in the now-broken silence, but I know he hears me.

I set my mug back down upon the tile and uncross my legs to stand. Slipping off my sandals and removing my sunglasses, I cross to the very center of the backyard. I rotate slowly, taking in every smell, every sight. No blue jays today at the bird feeder that Dad carefully maintains. No squirrels either, bothering poor Boomer. Just a small robin hopping around the lily pond.

The gate leads out to the common area, a large field that looks like its own park. I recall games of catch with my brothers. Maybe I'll ask Henry to play when he gets home from school. I can't believe he's starting high school in the fall. I push that thought to the back of my mind while I gaze at the field, remembering the two of us playing catch.
I look down at my toes, tapping them gently against the damp grass. What a wonderful feeling.