Sunday, April 28, 2013
"Why are you here so soon?"
"I've been up since five, finished with The Baby Violinists at six, stopped for gas, didn't stop for supper, drove ten over the limit and have to be up at five, again, tomorrow. Do you want to go home?"
"No. I mean, yes. I mean, how did you get in here? I didn't hear you come in."
"I knocked, poked my head in, shouted, "Is Buff here?" And a voice from the kitchen shouted back, "He's upstairs." That's how I got in. Does no one think to lock the doors? By the way, it stinks like wet huskies downstairs. Is there a dog living here? And the walls in this room need painting."
"I can live with purple walls."
"It's awful, Buff. You will get depressed."
"I don't want to paint it, Mom. Purple is okay and some of the huskies are moving out."
On the drive home, the pink moon, plump and full on the eastern horizon, back-lit a sweeping wash of river and cattails and then some low turquoise farm buildings We stopped to take photos at the ordered tangle of silver stainless steel pipes, tanks and sodium lights of a chemical plant; none of which will appear here, since Geek Guy was not with us to fix the inevitable technical difficulties. Our conversation turned to Buff's latest decision revealed on the car ride back to school the previous weekend. He is changing majors and schools after finishing his current program. It is a choice with which, we are pleased. He will live one more year in an unlocked, stinky, purple house, a choice with which, we are not so pleased, but he is on the right track.
(Photo: Buff, Saturday after an all-nighter in The Shop From Hell working on his beloved dirt-bike.)