It's my partner's birthday this Friday. She is turning 25. I check my bank account: $61.06 until the 15th. I think I can stretch it into flowers and a dinner out, hopefully.
We are low on cash because we recently took a vacation we couldn't afford- not that it was lavish, but our time off was unpaid. Actually, vacation is a bit of a stretch for Arizona in June, but it was time off, back home. The first night we were there we shared a cigarette. It was well after dark, but the air was 90+ degrees F, and still- the smoke hung as if suspended. But it felt nice.
Across the street from us was an "undeveloped" lot, overgrown with plants indigenous to the Sonoran Desert: Mesquite, Creosote, Palo Verde, and plenty of Cacti. We heard a rustling in the brush, and I could make out the silhouette of a curved back on all fours.
"Is that a Coyote?" my partner asks. We've seen them before.
"Nah," I reply, "it's a Javelina. I can tell by its shape."
More rustling. Then suddenly, a huge procession of Javelinas cross the street, nose to tail, huffing and snorting, into another undeveloped lot. There must've been at least 20, more than I've ever seen at once. We watch, in awe, as the last ones cross. Moments later a Javelina trio emerges. Parents and a tiny newborn, not more than a couple weeks old. They cross casually, the little one stumbling every now and then, its hooves clattering on the asphalt like tap shoes.
They disappear into the brush, we hear a few more bleats and snorts, then it gets quiet. A car turns the corner and drives past. I wondered, how often does magic happen moments before we pass by?