easily pleased

cecile just knocked on my door and walked in with a tray of buttered tostada with two kinds of jam and a glass of juice with a sliced strawberry garnish.

“para ti,” she said, smiling.

i was hungry, in the middle of writing a long letter to brett. it is one of those unpleasant letters. i talked to cecile about it last night and she made some fantastically vivid hand motions to demonstrate how guys push buttons to make you angry and then act like you’re insane.

so she shows up in my bedroom with this pretty breakfast tray, knowing without having seen me yet this morning that i am writing this unpleasant letter. and i am so delighted by the breakfast and so grateful that tears literally spring to my eyes. not like crying. it was strange. i told her she was the most amazing person ever and she smiled and looked kind of startled and i took a picture of her holding the tray and also a picture of just the tray.

after she left, i thought of the time breton brought me breakfast in bed. we were living on jim taylor; it was the morning of my 20th birthday. she knocked on my door and walked in with hotcakes and sausage from mcdonald’s. mcdonald’s pancakes are like rubbery edible clouds. they have the weirdest and most awesome texture ever. but i never woke up early enough to make it there for breakfast. so she walks in with the hotcakes and i am totally thrilled. like waving-my-arms-around excited.

her face goes from uncertain to relieved and she says, “oh, good. i mean i know it’s not much of a birthday present and i really wasn’t sure if you were going to like this but i know you never wake up in time for breakfast...”

me: “this is the best birthday present ever!”

sometimes breakfast in bed is a magical thing.

Comments

[breton]

yay!!!
just wanted to respond to your email. the visit was amazing. thanks so much for having me. you have beautiful friends. and cecile really is incredible. it was really comforting for me to see you in that setting. among friends who really appreciate you and love you like I/we do. friends that can tell you that you aren't crazy and that can bring your breakfast in bed.

and while me and cecile were talking about you in French in front of you she told me, " it's just going to be so hard... her leaving and all. and her room being there all empty. it's like you have your friends and when you are bad you don't see them cause you don't want to and when you are good and you want to, you see them. but with ann, i see her when i am bad and when i am good. and i know i can knock on her door and talk. anytime. i don't know. it's hard to describe."

and i thought about living on jim taylor and tiger plaza. and crying on your bed. me or you. your voice. and the way your bedspread felt against my cheeks. and i smiled at her. cause she didn't even have to describe it to me. i know.

[ann]

that made me tear up in the cry way