He had gone online the day before only to learn that the IMAX showings were already sold out. It was the 3-D follow-up to the sequel of a superhero blockbuster.
#THE BREEZE MOVIE#
On their way into Manhattan, he told her that they had tickets to a movie that night. Sarah skipped ahead down the street on their way to the subway and then skipped back to him, leaping into his arms. They drank and talked until closing time. There was a flurry of texts and phone calls, and before too long their friends showed up-Wes and Rachel, Molly with her dog. But it was early, and he suggested going to a beer garden where they’d spent last summer drinking with friends. Before leaving, they walked into a little wooded area and with barely a sound brought each other off in two minutes with an urgency that had hibernated all winter, an urgency they both thought might have died in its hole. They ate their sandwiches and drank a little wine, and then they stood and tossed a Frisbee until it was just a white underbelly floating in the darkness. His knees looked as pale as moons in last year’s shorts. She wore a shimmery green sundress, with a thin white belt, slipped on quickly in the few minutes she gave them to get ready. In the mild wind, the leaves ticked gently back and forth, like second hands on stuck clocks. He unfurled a checkered blanket in the breeze and spread it under a tree whose canopy would have spanned the length of their apartment. They bought sandwiches from a place in the neighborhood and took the train into Manhattan. She wanted to have a picnic in Central Park. Then he said, “What is it you want to do?” “What do you want to do tonight?” she asked him. Jay was thumbing listlessly through the mail. What if she failed to make the most of what remained of this perfect spring day? Either way, dead to her, and leaving in its wake a sense of excitement and mild dread. You get how many like it? Maybe a dozen in a lifetime . . . and already gone, down the block and picking up speed, or dying out. The breeze, God, the breeze! she thought. It cut through the branches of the trees, turning up the silver undersides of the young leaves, and brought goosebumps as it went around her. The children’s voices carried in the blue air. They called their six feet of concrete balcony overlooking the street the brig. “In the brig!” Sarah called out and, with her wineglass at a tilt, looked down on the neighborhood. Someone unseen scraped a broom over a little courtyard, the rhythmic sound of brownstones in spring. Below her, neighbors reclined on their stoops, laughing and relieved, shaking off winter with loud cries and sudden starts. She was in the brig when her husband came home.
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