Dearest Rachel –
I feel like I should apologize for yesterday; normally, I can get a letter out to you before noon without fail – and most of it was put together both early and quickly – but the story couldn’t be resolved until the work was done by the repair team when they came over. Even then, it was a little strange to be wrapping things up while Daniel was sitting across from me, waiting for me to be done – and going through his own news feed while I was doing so – so we could go back to what we had been watching before the plumbers arrived (although I had a thing or two to show him beforehand about next year’s plans, which I’ll let you know more about in due time).
Then again, these time constraints I put upon myself don’t really concern you, as time probably doesn’t concern you the way it does us on speck-ship earth. For us, its spin defines the days, and its course around the sun the seasons; but as you’ve been freed from it, neither of those temporal markers matter. Why, you don’t even get tired any more, so things like days and years have no meaning. But they do to us.
And that’s sort of how I segue from a half-hearted apology to the most recent story at hand. No, yesterday wasn’t particularly normal – even in my retirement, staying home from the ‘office’ is unusual of a Friday – but that’s not where the pretense lay. It had more to do with pretending that nothing else out of the ordinary was happening once everything was put into good repair.
You see, I’d gotten a text several weeks ago from Logan’s father, asking me if Daniel and I would be willing to join them for dinner yesterday evening. It would seem that Logan was completing his thirtieth orbit around the sun, and there was to be a celebration of that. However, the stipulation was that it was to be a surprise for him, so we were to pretend that we knew nothing about these plans, and conduct ourselves as if everything was otherwise normal.
Of course, given my customary forgetfulness, this should have been an easy task; the real trick would be to bring it all back to memory at the appropriate time, so that we would not miss out on the moment. At the same time, I decided not to inform Daniel about it until earlier this week (when, thankfully, Logan’s father sent me a reminder), rather than burden him too long with the secret. As you recall, he’s a terrible liar (which, I should make clear, is to his credit, and not a failing), but if he doesn’t know about it in the first place, he won’t need to try to deceive.
On the other hand, when I did tell him about it, he shrugged and pointed out that it’s not a subject that Logan was likely to bring up; and keeping silent was a much easier task than actively lying (especially for him), so I needn’t have worried about it.
Of course, the day came with its own preoccupations. I was home for the day, which was out of the ordinary, but it had nothing to do with the upcoming event, and so nothing was thought about it. Logan did his usual Friday breakfast preparations, which he offered to share with us (and which I declined, also as per usual, having just been to the gym and, while somewhat hungry, didn’t want to undo my efforts quite that quickly), although Daniel was more than willing to partake, once he woke up. As the day wore on, the plumbing appointment began to run late, and Logan left the house with his dad – they were going to see a movie before going out to a low-key (heh-heh) dinner together – before any of the work around the house got started. For all he knew, we were going to be dealing with that for some time to come, although it might be expected that blue-collar work tends to wrap up by five o’clock, leaving us free to our own devices by evening, not that it would matter.
I will say that he and his dad made something of a mistake in driving past the house on their way to the restaurant; there had to have been other north-south routes they could have taken. As it was, when they drove by, Logan noted that the car wasn’t in the driveway – because, of course, we were already either there or on our way. At least Daniel and I have a known history of going out for dinner (because I’d just as soon not do either the cooking or the cleaning), so it’s not as if there was all that much to be suspicious of.
Meanwhile, on our end, we’d arrived and found the area that had been reserved for his family and friends. As it was, it seemed like there had been more space reserved than was necessary – three whole tables – but we chalked it up to the fact that we were there fifteen minutes before we were required to (thanks, Dad!), and so not everyone else had arrived; there were supposed to have been some fifteen people spread out among three large tables. So we situated ourselves at the one opposite the one occupied by his family, and waited for the others to arrive and fill the center table.
Which never really happened; eventually, one of his uncles enlisted us to push the tables together so everyone could better gather around the center a little more convivially, but there was still a pretty considerable amount of space for the, maybe ten of us.
Meanwhile, as we were doing this, Logan and his dad arrived; we didn’t get a lot of time to hide (if we were supposed to). Those mylar balloons don’t provide a lot of cover, especially when you’re standing up.
Interestingly, Logan and his dad sat at our table, as opposed to the family table (which, admittedly, was fairly crowded) or the center table (which contained the cake and several of the pizzas). Were it not for the crowds in the place, the presence of the family and birthday trappings, and the constant P.A. announcements of one order or another being ready for pickup, I suppose it would feel like a fairly normal evening out with the boys; no pretense necessary.
It’s kind of funny, isn’t it, sweetheart? It seems like half of the past week’s events have had more to do with one or the other of the boys rather than myself. I’m not entirely sure what that might mean, but I’ve mentioned being a bit player in my own story before; that seems to be part and parcel of age. You don’t have the energy, or you can’t summon the interest, to be the main character of every day. And that seems to be the new normal of life. There are worse such fates, I suppose. Besides, everyone needs to have their moment in the sun, before it sets and he has to ride home with me and Daniel instead of being dropped back off at the house by his own dad.
Anyway, today should resume our own typical Saturday (although, being August, I have the time first thing in the morning to write you like this, rather than being off at the morning study. That’s about to change come next week, though), right down to having to take off in the mid-afternoon for the closest thing I have to actual work. In which case, I might as well sign off with my usual request for you to keep an eye on me, and wish me (us) well. We’re going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 