As it turns out, no such thing happened this year. A heat advisory in affect and a knee that had been diagnosed far worse than I originally thought. The doctor said walk–don’t dance. And the news said stay inside–don’t walk. I’ve never been one to follow the rules, you know; but in an effort to adhere and change my stubborn ways, we drove. We strapped the kids in the car, stuffing ourselves with cream cheese bagels, lemon water, and iced coffees that rattled with every bounce of the car. We held hands like two goofs, and had a decent and hilarious conversation. The kids fell asleep in the back– mouths wide, heads crooked, blissfully unaware of our destination.
I’d spent the entire week dreaming of a cold one cooling my hand, swollen and moist from the summer heat. I dreamt of my children dancing confidently amongst strangers, their skirts snapping as they twisted and twirled. Suspenders pressed tightly against drenched white v-neck shirts, with a few crumbles of chest hair peeking through. Michael Arenella and the orchestra trumpeting loudly on the stage, donned in white, while all gathered to dance across the mahogany floor.
Within an hour we’d arrived. A lake in a town just outside of the city. The lifeguards had deep New York accents, and the water warm, perfect for swimming. “You can sit it in and not drown, Mommy!” River exclaimed. And so we did.