We Brought Our Doubt to the Picnic

How it begins

1. What We Packed

Mateo brings bread, a knife wrapped in a clean towel, and the belief that weather can be negotiated by arriving early.

I bring tomatoes, a coat I will pretend not to need, and a question I have carried so long it has taken the shape of my pocket.

We spread the blanket where the grass is least convincing. An ant inspects the cheese with the seriousness we reserve for other people's plans.

Nobody asks the ant what it hopes to become.

2. Forecast

The rain begins during the good news. Not heavy rain. Just enough to make the paper plates reconsider their profession.

Someone laughs. Someone doesn't. We move beneath a tree that has made no promise about keeping us dry.

Mateo says this will be a story. I say it is already an afternoon.

He hands me the towel before attempting to improve what I have said.

The bread gets wet at one corner. We eat the other corners first.

3. A Place to Put It

At last I tell them I do not know what comes next.

Nobody offers a map. Perhaps they have finally tired of folding their own.

A friend moves the olives closer. Another asks whether I want advice or another sandwich.

For once, these do not sound like different measures of care.

We sit until the light changes. There is a train to catch, a child to collect, a kitchen where somebody will be expected to answer an ordinary question.

Before we leave, Mateo shakes the crumbs from the blanket. My doubt remains. It is not smaller. It simply has less work to do keeping me separate.

Next Saturday, he says. Bring whatever you have.

He means food. He also knows that is not all I will be carrying.

The forecast says improvement. We make no promise about which direction that will take.