Rambles | A Short Story Collection

Skyline

Today, she thought, I am thankful for the sky. Through her window, it loomed dark and broody and promised a coming storm. It would probably make her late to work. Rain might drip down her collar and soak through her shoes and cast a dim mood across the entire day, but that was all right.

That was always how she chose: the things at the forefront of her annoyance, things harder to love. She chose to be grateful for every Monday morning. She would fumble for her alarm and wipe sleep from her gummy eyes and be grateful for those Monday mornings. (In particular, morning prayer. It spoke of vigilance and watchfulness, things she especially needed during the morning crush of traffic.) One thing every day. That was her hope.

So it wasn't just Mondays she was thankful for. It was for her spilled coffee. For times when one of the kids' practices ran late. For the things that rankled and agitated her, that jolted her awake to life. Like most things, it was easier to say than do.

(Jamie wouldn't put on his raincoat. Katie was worried her soccer game would be cancelled and where would she go after school? Would Dad pick her up or would she have to take the bus home?)

David whispered in her ear, "I'll get the kids this morning." He handed her a lunch he'd made and pecked her on the cheek. "Go get 'em."

She returned the kiss, and swept down the front steps, wind billowing under her jacket. Her heels clicked on the wet pavement before she slid into her car.

Streetlights glimmered in the half-light of morning. The blurred car brakes and traffic lights and neon signs melded in the rain like a watercolor painting her daughter would do.

Yes, she was thankful.