All I Want to Do

All I want to do is cram into some well-worn dive bar with any friend who will come out. Have a few scotches and not care who is breathing into my space.

 

All I want to do is order the smoked salmon appetizer with the medium-rare T-bone. Maybe cheesecake if I’m up for dessert. Talk with my husband and know we can some back whenever we want.

 

All I want to do is sweat and scream and sing along to the greatest hits on the setlist. Feel the bass rumble through my hips and dance until my knees creak.

 

All I want to do is show up fashionably late with hors d’oeuvres and talk all night with my friends, unwary of hugs or handshakes.

 

All I want to do is sit down at the dining room table with everyone and dig into Mom’s roast beef. To read to my nephew again. To watch my son sit in Dad’s old recliner. To all be together again under one roof.