diners club: miss brunswick
the last birthday
We were at my favorite breakfast spot, my dad and I, on Pleasant Street by the railroad tracks. It was his birthday. It was raining. The diner smelled like wet dog. I brought him the brownies I’d baked the night before. He brought a list—he always did—a to-do list scribbled on index cards. Boring dad-things like oil change and buy cat litter and find essay on chimneys. He had the Bowdoin bowl, I ordered pancakes. When we left, I noticed a new dent in the bumper of his Subaru and added to my own list: hide car keys.
You have such a way with words! This reminds me of my own mom, right down to the notes on index cards (a practice I continue to this day).
This hit home, just travelled back to time spent with my father years ago. Love how your writing is so relatable.