I’m taking a late morning walk with Steven, hoping our favorite brunch spot will have outdoor seating available so we won’t have to tie Billy up to the bike rack outside.
I’m holding Billy’s leash and our tote of brunch reading material, and Steven is holding the small green bag of Billy’s first poop. Steven has gotten too close to bumping me with it several times. “Steven, please hold the poop in your left hand,” I remind him. He doesn’t know when he’s touching people and when he isn’t.
We pass the flower shop where Steven bought me the flowers I wanted for our anniversary. The sidewalk narrows and a young woman approaches. Her hair is unbrushed and she is wearing basketball shorts and drinking a large soda at ten in the morning. I wonder where she’s going, looking like that. I hug the right side of the sidewalk but Steven doesn’t catch the cue. He doesn’t move over at all. I nudge him. And in that exact moment, Steven’s sack of feces, on the upward side of the swing caused by Steven’s bouncy walking, flops against her basketball shorts-laden thigh. Continue reading “Steven’s Shit by Sara Adams”