All l had to do was change my perspective just a little and I could get out of there, get back home, back to a place where I spoke the language. So I did it and when I opened my eyes everything was fine. It was okay. We were fine. I pushed all that fear and anxiety and insecurity down and proposed to Suze an hour later. Outside my kitchen window, it looks hotter. Everyone is sitting down. Suze has a paper plate on her lap that looks like its ready to fold over. I leave the kitchen and go down the hall to the office and open the bottom drawer of my desk. I finished the letter months ago. It's neatly folded and has two words: We're leaving. I take the letter out often and just hold it. Sometimes I try to tempt fate and walk around with it, see if Suze asks what's in my hand. She never does. I take it out now and go back to the kitchen. I stand in the kitchen for a while and then go to the counter and set the letter down beside Cleo's bowl of nuts. I forego the mixed drink and grab the last three of a six pack from the fridge and the nuts from the counter and go into the garage. I remember the letter but choose to leave it out in the open until I go back inside. I drain a beer completely, open another one and decide to give myself a good hour. I end up falling asleep in the chair I've pulled to the middle of the room. My dreams are hazy and short and I don't remember them when I wake up. When I do wake up it's almost dark. I can see the first stars through the skylights in the garage. The mixed nuts have slid down from my lap and spilled on the chair seat. I take a swallow from the warm beer in my hand and get up to go inside. The party is over. Suze is in the kitchen washing the dishes, bowls turned over and drying. There's a pile of wet flatware and utensils and cutting knives on a dish towel next to the sink. Cleo is in the breakfast nook at her high chair eating some crackers. I see the letter where I left it. It hasn't been moved. I want to point it out, mention it, finally do this thing, but I don't. I sit down next to my daughter and face her.
166 I ALAI N DOUGLAS PARK