I awoke and looked out the window. It was gray and cold out, and would probably rain soon. I heard the pneumatic thump-thump of a basketball being dribbled. Jack and Tony were shooting lay-ups in the turnaround.
"Is Tony clean yet?" I asked Mary, who'd just awakened.
"Don't ask me, I haven't tried him."
"What's for dinner?"
"Don't you ever let up about dinner, Charlie?"
"I just wanna know."
"Tuna Surprise."
"Tuna Surprise? That had better be a joke. And also, it's in extremely poor taste."
She flumped over and began to settle into sleep again. I stroked her a bit.
"Maaaaaa-ry-"
"Oh c'mon, Charlie. I jus' wanna… zzzzz…"
I looked out at the two strapping lads playing ball. They thumped it against the asphalt driveway, leapt and parried, shot and blocked, spun and danced under the hoop.
I was happy.
I wanted to take the instant, the entire situation, and freeze it . I wanted to dip it in liquid nitrogen and put it in Plexiglas, and keep it on my mantel. Only I, and everyone else in the scene, would be inside it, frozen, and we'd never change.
The puppy jumped up at Tony, and he smacked her on the snoot, then petted her. She bowed down in a half-crouch and let out a shrill bark.
But of course you cannot. You cannot stop it. The Great Going On continues, stops for no one. And the Great Going On is what gives life all its terror and sadness, but also all its joy and beauty. It's what makes us enjoy and appreciate now.
Mary stirred and nestled into the crook of my arm.
It began to rain. The boys whooped and ran inside.
And then it poured.