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5 | Sweatshirt Blues THIS ETHAN PERSON

Welp. I got the sweatshirt.

For fuck’s sake.

I drag a hand down my face as I walk toward the train.

That kind of day. That kind of year.

I shake my head at the failed exchange. Usually, women kind of like me when we first meet. Plus, I know that mom, though she may not realize it. Once, when our kids were only toddlers, we spent hours talking while we trailed them on the playground, blocking for them like linebackers.

Not that she looks like a lineman. More like a pixie with her shaggy honey-colored hair and cat eyes.

That talk stayed with me. Not just because she’s hot. Which she is, even if she’s cranky as hell. But also because our conversation was so easy. About nothing and everything. Like a throwback from teen years when you’d sit on the phone with someone for hours and just talk shit. For the first time in a long time, I was just me.

It did not stay with her though—our talk. I know because she waved once or twice at drop-off after that and then she stopped saying hello.

Some days I think it’s intentional. Most days I think she forgot. On days like today, I don’t blame her. I would ignore me too.

TO-DO

Drop off sweatshirt.

Apologize about sweatshirt.

Forget about the stupid fucking sweatshirt and get to work.

Call with corporate.

Don’t forget to log on for after-school registration or suffer the consequences!

Don’t forget!