First XC meet.
Look at me looking at the water and not looking at you. Look at me not walking over to be near your group so I can pantomime to you “look at your Dexcom and then finger-signal me the number.” Look at me walking the dog with my most relaxed gait. Look at me picking up dog poop. Look at me admire the view with not a care in the world. Look at Prudence Island. It looks too close. Is it always that close? Look at me look around for a trash barrel. Look at me not want to walk too far away. Look at me put a sack of poo on the roof of my car.
Look at you walking away with a group of friends. Look at you stretching and skipping the same high skips we did in the 80’s! Look at your pump visibly banging around in the pocket of your giant shorts. Look at me not try to get your attention to pantomime, “put it in the Spibelt.” Look at you line up to race. Look at me continue to not attempt to pantomime blood glucose inquiries. Look at you go. Look at you disappear into the trees.
Look at the buddy you run with. Hey, he’s coming down the chute in first place! Look at ten more kids. They seem nice. Look at me clap. Look at me clapping, clapping, clapping. Look at me say “wooo-hoo Meaghan” when I’m pretty sure that’s Meaghan.
Look at my eyes go all farmwife tornado. Look at ten more boys and girls run into the chute. Look at the anvil pressing on my heart. Look: three more runners. Look way in the distance: there’s someone with your too-big blue shorts. Look at me not get my hopes up, but maybe? Could it be? Look—it’s you, bangy pump pocket and all.
Look at me crying. Look at the rictus where a momface belongs. It’s scaring the dog. Look at me hide the rictus in Joe’s armpit. Look at you taking the dog around the field to meet a bunch of other dogs.