I wake up with Little curled up between me and Justin. Justin is sick, and he’s never sick.

I get out of bed, wash up, throw on clothes and a coat, and kiss him goodbye. I walk a few blocks to the grocery store. On my way there, I hear tiny speckles of noise in the trees. I don’t see rain, but it sounds like the smallest droplets.

Just outside the store, I see them – tiny pebbles of snow. I stand there for a minute, just taking it in.

Once inside, I randomly grab things I think Justin might like – popcorn, noodle cups, juice bottles.

I walk another block to the pharmacy. The pharmacist points me toward the Tylenol, and I pick up every type of medicine I think Justin might need. Sudafed. Afrin. Nyquil. The cashier says, “I’m going to have to write you up for that Sudafed.” There is a sticky note in his binder with a woman’s name, and the note: “Do not sell to her! She has gone over her limit multiple times!” I vaguely wonder if people get addicted to Sudafed. The man behind me in line buys a $5 scratch off card. I hope he wins something.

I walk down the street to the coffee shop. Every seat is taken, and there’s a line at the counter. I shift my market bags to take up as little room as possible and wait my turn. I order a soy mocha for me, a cappuccino for Justin. I wait in a corner and watch people search for open seats. I see a woman who is wearing tight exercise pants and boots, and I realize I really don’t like it when people wear tight exercise pants as regular clothing, but I say nothing. My coffees are ready, and I thank the barista and head out the door.

Outside, it has started snowing. Tiny pellets of snow. Everyone is awed at this rarity in Austin. I look at a couple sitting outside and say, “It’s kind of snowing!” The guy says, “You know what’s cool? There are people all over town right now saying that exact same thing – its kind of snowing!” It’s a nice thought.

I walk back home, and everyone I pass is smiling in the snow. Once home, I stuff Justin with medicines and coffee and toaster pastries. Larger flakes start to fall, and Roux and I stare out the window together. And then it’s gone.

2 responses to “Today”

  1. Hope Justin feels better soon!

    PS – It has nothing to do with people getting addicted to Sudafed. They used to be able to buy it by the armloads to make Meth.

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