Perfect Day

Glamour sent me a Happy Birthday email and asked me how I would describe my perfect day. I can’t really detail the days that haven’t happened, even those wildest fantasy days, so I drew on something from long ago. This was my perfect day.

We were best friends, you and I. Back before your cousin showed me his meaning of best friend. Back before life got in the way. Back before adulthood and responsibility. We were friends.
We would start the day, you and I, by foraging for breakfast. We’d shamelessly stand begging for donuts at TY’s door, then climb knotty crab apple trees to eat the fruit whole, crunching through worm holes, seeds and not ripe cores (and the occasional worm).
We’d roll down Store Hill coming to a jumbled stop in bunches of sweet wild clover; a midmorning snack. Never mind grass stains or stares.
We’d head to Arnie’s Beach for elusive milk of magnesia blue sea glass and Arnie. We’d slide down rocks, over the slimy-spit laden seaweed and into the ocean until our shorts were stained black and worn through in places. Turn over rocks hoping to catch a crabby crab. Stare into tide pools waiting for the minnows to dart by. Smash perriwinkles with rocks for a raw lunch.
Skip pebbles on the Ice Pond’s tranquil face and laugh about an earlier prank. Look for coins in illegal faerie houses and steal every penny without guilt. Roll over mossy logs  to look for black and yellow salamanders and gray leggy potato bugs. Dirt clogging our fingernails and hair.
Climb the big chestnut tree in Lex’s yard, get lost in the leaves and yell lewd things at the tourists, “You have big boogers, lady!” Jump down to scare the city slickers. Hide in lobster cars if that wasn’t enough. Give them the wrong directions to Lobster Cove if we wanted more.
Penny candy at Zim’s: fireballs and Swedish fish, Bit o Honeys and Bazooka Joes.
Wander to the dock to lay flat on our bellies. Playing I-Spy with the harbor’s bottom. Peer through the rippled water; the toilet bowl was off-limits because it was always there.
Take the skiff out for a round-the-harbor row, trailing fingers and toes in the icy water’s wake.
Climb to lighthouse lawn and play lion, tying knots of tall grass over our heads for forts.
If there was time, drop in Treetops for mocha and markers. As the sun set over the water and the end of day was near we would head for home. You for dinner, I late for curfew as usual. We could tell by the bell. Covered with sweet dirt and sticky candy. We swore, you and I, we had a rubber band between us; a band that would stretch and stretch until we each got home. You’d yell “got it?” and I’d call back “yes”. Back and forth through the neighborhood until we couldn’t hear each others’ fading voices. We swear the band wouldn’t break until we got to our front doors safely. You and I. A perfect day. To this day I don’t see a rubber band and not think of you.

PS~ I never did meet Arnie.