Almost Perfect Day

I lollygag as much as I can As I travel from meadow to prairie Grandma packs me a lunch Knowing she will not see me for hours It is 1960. She is not frightened I will be found dead Kidnappers only go after the Lindbergh baby. I reach a fence and sit down, open my grandpa’s secondary black lunch box. Pull out the water and take a big swig. It is lukewarm, but it is okay today. I am eight; not picky, just glad to be alive. Grasshoppers, and a ladybug call my name. My identical twin sister is back at the house Pleasing grandma, cooking, cleaning, baking. Doing all the things girls not like me like to do. I am irritated that I was not born a boy. I am a pirate, a pilot, a race car driver. I am so damned mad to be an eight-year-old-girl. Boys are allowed to yell out the answers. Damn it! Eat the sandwich a voice urges me. I really want to, but it’s early so I just take a pinch of it. Peanut butter and jelly. Maybe another tiny bite. I polish it off and stare at the apple. I was irritated when grandma made me take it. Now I’m rethinking that. I hop the fence and get pricked on the barbed wire. This is irritating! Maybe I should have listened to grandpa’s advice. Never go over the fence. But I am there now. I follow a well-worn path to a little brook. Take off my shoes and socks, wade around. It is so cold and delightful. There are tiny things swimming. I strain my eyes but have no idea what they are. A weird cough. I look up to see the flash of a white tail deer. Almost perfect day. More perfect if I had been a boy.