The Six Rules of Maybe

wanted to sneak her out the back door, hold her and hold her and hold her. But Mom said they needed time alone. We would come back again soon to visit. And we would come back again after our trip to the Ivory Coast, that we’d be taking during my mid-winter break. We had already gone to the passport office, filled out our forms, and had our photos taken. Every day we checked the mail for the small blue books with the gold seal that meant we could go anywhere.
    We got into the car. It was evening, and an October evening too. That summer—a summer of love and detonations and leavings—I had learned that you could be so afraid of loss that you let hope take over, or else, made sure that it never saw the light of day. You had to manage hope. But that night the sky was clear and we had a new baby in our lives and the world hadmore hope than you had ever known it could hold. It was time for all the optimism in the universe then. All of it. So Mom did the only thing you can do, when you feel that full. When there is so much hope and so many possibilities. She rolled down the windows and turned the music up, loud. It was Neil Diamond, and we both sang along.