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.

    1. Thanks! And CRAZY! Desperate people can be so clever, I suppose…

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