When I arrived, and packed my bags up the front stairs, Mom had homemade chicken soup ready for dinner. We supped and then moved to the living room windows and swivel chairs, with champagne and dark chocolate, to watch the gold light on the windows over in the east bay and the light play over the tops of the buildings down Market Street.
We told stories and talked and talked and swiveled around to notice it was dark and the light show was going on the Bay Bridge. More talk and polished off the bottle of Chandon. And maybe tomorrow we’ll take the F Train down to the Embarcadero so that we can be up close to the light show on the bridge. Maybe really close at DeLancey Street’s with garlic mashed potatoes.
And I was just thinking, looking over at my Mom, so cute in the chair across from me, how the sun is going down and she doesn’t have much time here. And maybe i don’t either, who knows? But it was precious to be together, laughing and talking, sometimes about serious things and sometimes memories or absolute trivia.
When the city was entirely dark and lit by electric lights we both yawned at the same time and the evening gave way to teeth brushing and getting tucked in.