That’s what August is

Harmony came into the kitchen wearing a white vest top and nothing else, singing something about Billy Joe Macalister jumping off a bridge.

You’re chirpy, I said.

Things are looking up, she said.

Harmony had a way of saying things where her eyes would look right into you, and you felt like you were cooking from the inside, like you were in a microwave or something.

Things are definitely looking up, she said, and she started to sing about Billy Joe again, like he was a friend of hers and hadn’t jumped off a bridge at all.

She sat on a chair in the kitchen singing that song and I was cooking breakfast. Sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, with honey to put on any leftover toast, and strong coffee with sugar because we were drunk the night before. We had the windows open and the August morning was pouring in, and just about everything was looking up…

I try to explain this to my wife when she asks me about it, but it’s no use. When a song comes on the radio on a Sunday morning in August, and she asks me about it and why I look that way, I try to explain.

I can’t help it, I say, that’s what August is.

But she doesn’t understand.