Red River

I walked along the river late this morning. Bathed my face in sunlight.

The river was frozen but for the very middle. The water flow must have been too strong for ice to cover. I imagined the water flowing under the great expanse of frozen river, defeating the ice through force little by little each day.

I closed my eyes and heard the flow. A man walked past me with a toddler in a wagon.

Off to the side lay a dead deer. Its guts hopscotched for 30 yards in each direction.

What’s red, white, and black all over? A very dead deer on Swan Lake in February. Coyote scat dotting the scene.

The morning was glorious after two weeks of grey skies and bitter cold: the bright sun; the bubbling of the melted stream.

The white snow, covered in shit.

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Public radio comes on every time I start my car. Today, it was an interview with Oprah.

She was born in the apartheid South, raised by her grandmother who worked as a housekeeper for a white family.  Oprah knew that wouldn’t be her life, somehow, even at six. She, who easily could have been washing a white woman’s laundry, instead gives away cars to her audience and graces the cover of her own monthly magazine.

She built a house in Montecito in the middle of a forest because she always equated trees with rich people. She loves it.

Who cares how fat she is, this day or the others

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After the river walk, I picked my daughter up from her ballet class. I slid her snow boots over her leggings while she and her friend called each other stinky butts.

We buckled ourselves into the dirty car and drove out of the parking lot. Salt residue and dirt covered the windows – I couldn’t even see out of the rear camera, so coated was it in road spew.

We waited in a long line at the carwash behind many people who clearly did this more often than I, but whose cars still looked disgusting.

My daughter only started to whine as we approached the payment kiosk, but quieted when I told her about the car wash.

Finally, it was our turn. A young Latino guy was bopping along to Bad Bunny as he lightly scrubbed the car with grey water. Then, neutral, baby. Time for robot cleaners.

“That was so cool, mommy. Wasn’t that so cool?” Came my daughter’s voice from the backseat. It was full of awe. The dryers started.

“I want to do that again someday.”

All clean, we drove off into the sunshine.