Three Days of Spring In Texas
Three days before the wasps return.
Three days before the A/C kicks back on.
Three days before every tree pollinates your sinuses.
A grape soda sunset rests opposite a gold full moon. Such a wondrous sight wasted sitting in traffic —never quite stopping— never quite moving. I rolled the window down and pulled a CD from the sun vizor, the radio had played the same song one too many times.
I watched the sun fade into the distance, keeping another eye on the shitbox in front of me. The smell of burnt clutch and cigarettes crept through the window. My exit was coming up, my phone was going off, I was running late.
“Yeah, I just got off work.”
“Ok, we have a table outside!”
“Cool, get me Lonestar, I just turned off Mopac.”
The college kids had already clogged the tiny parking lot with daddies’ Mercedes. I left my Civic a block further down the road. Warm streetlights guided me through the early night air towards the back entrance of the building.
I could see them outside on the patio as I made my way up the old concrete steps and past the wrought iron garden fencing that surrounded the place. Miles of neon and garden lights strung through the trees lit the venue better than any industrial option ever could.
They waved at me, holding up their beers and pointing at them. I waved back as I made my way through the old house that served as the cafe. Its wooden floors ached beneath each step until I escaped to the patio.
Outside was an ensemble of rusting vintage gliders and abandoned office furniture strewn about a garden of massive pecan trees and every type of leafy potted plant they could cram around the tables. I made my way to their huddled chairs and my still cold beer.
We sat there for hours, chasing drinks with coffee. The cool breeze brushing through the trees held the last remnants of winter and signaled the coming furnace of summer. But it was during these days when the temp was still 68F at 8pm that being outside was a quiet moment in heaven.
Quiet until a glass would fall. Quiet until every seat on the patio was full. Quiet until the live band got on stage. We complained about work, about money, about what someone said behind their back. Trivial bullshit that is no longer trivial today.
We all had to get back home, back to work the next day. I got in my car and drove, windows down, the wind rushing through my hair and loose button-down shirt. The taste of coffee still on my lips.
I looked up at the sky from my balcony to finish a cigarette. In three months we would all move away. In three years the venue would change hands. The stars went unchanged, and for three days in February you can taste spring.