It's a bright sunny day out, but you wouldn't know it because you've been fighting with your college work all day. More than once, I've leaned into the room, only to see you typing away furiously or occasionally griping at how your coffee is getting cold. Even with the nice weather, I'm starting to question your decision to go visit relatives if your homework is driving you crazy. So ... I decide to see what I can do.
At some point in the craziness, you lean back in your chair in order to focus and think about what needs to be done next. With your eyes closed and your brain going full-speed, you don't even notice when I step into the room. You do, however, notice when I start rubbing your shoulders. Your head leaned back, you open your eyes and look up at me with an almost painful smile.
"That feels nice. Thank you." It seems like a plain answer, but I know that's because you're struggling with the work.
"You're welcome. Are you buried, or do you have to finish this right here and now?" You sigh and give me that look, like you expect me to do something crazy. "I'm serious. Come on, you need a little time away from the machine."
You are reluctant to agree, but you've learned to let me have my way every once in a while. I take your hand and lead you out of the study and through the living room. As we walk out onto the patio, I remind the folks that we'll only be away for a while and they eagerly agree to watch their grandson while I get you outside and into the sun. You are already suspecting something -- but you're surprised when we step out onto the driveway and there's a convertible sitting there. You stop walking. "Where did this come from?"
I roll my eyes and grab your hand again, pulling. "It doesn't matter. Everything's fine, it's a great day, and you need a break from the computer. Come on."
You're slow to recover - at first - but I also know that you enjoy convertibles and you're getting excited about the drive even before I can unlock the doors. As soon as we're safely inside, I back us out of the driveway and make for the exit to the interstate.
Even driving at neighborhood speeds, you're already wondering about your hair. You consider letting it out, tying it up more, or maybe just giving me shit about how I didn't bring a hat or something to cover it up. As I turn onto the interstate and you feel the wind pick up, you give in and just let out the ponytail, running your hand through your hair and feeling it blow freely in the wind.
"It's a good thing I was going to get my hair done tomorrow instead of today."
