Nothing that a flower in your hair won't fix

This week, my inspiration is something I heard off the TV the other day:  "It's nothing that a flower in your hair won't fix."

Lovely.

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My response:

It felt like a dream, so surreal.  The lawyer's office was too typical, like something out of a night time drama, with wide, floor to ceiling windows and a glass table, framed with chrome.  The paper beneath my palm was too crisp, the printing too neat.  I waited for a moment to see if it would all disappear and I'd find myself in bed, next to Robert, warm in our flannel sheets, in spite of the cold of the apartment.  He never let me turn the heat up, but I kept the bed well stocked with blankets.

The moment passed.  I turned one more time to my lawyer for reassurance.  She nodded, her double chin shaking against the collar of her white shirt and black suit.  If I'd doubted anymore then, my shaky signature at the bottom of the page confirmed it.  No flourish, just a stumbling acceptance.

I swallowed hard, wrapped myself back up in my coat and scarf, said my goodbyes and headed out the door.  Clocks chimed as I strode down the street.  Only two blocks to the apartment.  Two blocks to the empty space that wasn't home anymore.  My feet hesitated, and I came to a stop on the sidewalk.  People passed on either side of me.  It was New York, after all.  They're all too busy and too used to crazies to look up or care.  They just tuck their heads down and duck to the side.  I stood like a boulder in the middle of the river, waters parting on either side, unmoving.

Across the street, the corner deli was lit up in green neon.  We ate cheesecake there the day we moved in, and the turkey Panini was to die for.  Then the waitress bumped Robert's arm and made him spill his Earl Grey down his shirt.  We never went back, no matter how strong my craving for cheesecake. 

I sucked in a lungful of crisp, smoggy air, like I'd been drowning.  I let it out, shuddering, and turned.  I hopped across the street, dodging cars.  They had five different kinds of cheesecake, and I bought a slice of each.  Large pastry box in hand, I skipped home.

One bite of cheesecake cured me of my ills.  I whipped off my scarf and danced to the thermostat, cranking it up.  Then I pulled out my tablet and booked a flight to Maui.  There was nothing wrong with me that a flower in my hair wouldn't fix.