Her fever broke in time for me to get sentenced to the roof to grill on Memorial Day. I wanted to just go to a street festival, but there I was, stuck slaving over the fire. I usually don't mind, but - you know, I was remembering how my old man used to get about his grill. He only had time to mess with it once, maybe twice a year, and he acted like it was a sacred ritual. Of course, any summer evening when he broke out the grill also included enough beer to float the neighborhood. He even passed me a few, letting me get a minor buzz that'd mess up my ballgame, and he and the old lady would get along great for a few hot hours.
The more I see him in the mirror, the more I wonder why he did what he did, and I wonder what I can do differently.