In Anticipation of a Lionheart Sigh Under a Dilettante Moon by Pat Foran

On our car insurance agent’s advice, I drove a different way home. I also adopted a new laugh, something akin to the embroidered cackle of Phyllis Diller.

Instead of turning right on Lifehack Lane, I took the bluer than blue Volkswagen Beach Bomb down Billy Goats Gruff Tollway. I saw a Datsun taking liberties and a UPS truck not taking left turns. I heard an optic boom in the dark sunshine and a whisper in the glove box. I felt a ripple in the universe and a stillness in my bones. For the first time since our honeymoon in Ypsilanti, when we talked about gumption, artificial limits and rabbit holes, I saw a way out that could give us a way in.

I exited the tollway and turned left, easing the Beach Bomb to a stop in front of the house. The dilettante moon was full; my heart, fuller. I wasn’t sure you’d be here. But I knew how you’d react to seeing me in this knitted Nehru suit, with a bearded dragon in tow. And when you sigh that lionheart sigh, look in the vicinity of my sunken eyes and pretend to giggle, I can’t help cackling.

Pat Foran is a writer in Milwaukee, Wis. Twitter: @pdforan