Burns beach cafe dog menu

Burns beach cafe dog menu

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Burns beach cafe dog menu

Hudson. Hudson. The dog's not coming back. He must have drowned and the tide has come in. Maybe. Or maybe he took a fall and his back is broken.

A man in jeans, running shoes, and a baseball cap leans on a longboard, idly staring at the ocean. A young woman in a black hoodie stands beside him, staring up at the sky, as if wting for rn. A toddler stands at her side.

The man turns and sees us and starts to wave. I wave back. For a moment the dog and the toddler disappear into the cloud of dust he leaves behind, like a movie running with bad dialogue. But we all know this is a still shot, frozen in time and stored in a hidden part of our minds.

We approach.

The man introduces himself as Mike, the woman as Mimi. We exchange pleasantries and I offer to give them a ride to their rental place, which is across town. As we start up the bike path, Mike's dog follows us, a large black dog with brown patches and a tan tongue. The dog jumps on the back of the woman's board, then runs along with us. He jumps off the board once we've crossed the park, but he doesn't seem to want to leave.

In my car, they point out their rental place on the way out of the park. "It's a dog, you know," I say, thinking of his sad eyes as he wts for me.

Mike offers to let the dog sleep in his room.

"Not a chance," I tell him. "But thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome," he says. "You have a good day."

Outside the rental place, we wave. Mike waves. The toddler waves. We drive off in the opposite direction, but I think about how Mike looked at his son, his eyes full of joy, how Mimi's eyes had sparkled when she looked at the boy and me. I wonder if they knew what they were doing, giving us a ride. I wonder how they would have felt about it if they knew they were making the kind of memories I was making, just from driving by.

A day later, Mike is still in my mind, as is Mimi, and a toddler in a green jacket. In my mind, they are still waving from the same bike path, just two faces in a line of people. I am making memories.

## Chapter 42

I'M WRITING A FEW MONTHS INTO THE JOURNEY. I'm also wondering how the hell to end it. "If you had a superpower, what would it be?" I ask my son.

"A speed-o-saurus!" he shouts, and he bounces up and down with his hands together, pretending he's a robot.

I smile and hug him.

"A super-fast-o-saurus?"

"No!" he says, "Just a super- _sau-sau_ -saurus!"

"Then I don't know," I tell him. "You're the only one who can decide what your superpower should be."

"But what superpower would you like to have?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say. "I'd like to fly."

He doesn't reply, but I know what he's thinking.

"That's a hard one," he says, "but I think I know. A super- _fly-_ -fly-bird."

"I'm a speed-o-saurus," he says, then he runs off to find a butterfly that's fluttering in the r. I'm in awe of the flutter of life in him. I watch him play for a while, but as he heads back to the swings, I wonder if I should follow him, so I leave, wondering if he's going to swing to that branch I planted years ago.

But he does, and then he heads for a rosebush, and then he goes behind it, where he starts to whisper to it.

I wt.

And he leaves, running back to me, holding the rose in his hands.

"Here," he says, and he puts it in my arms.

"You're a super- _rose-_ -rose," he says, and I smile.

I walk home in the autumn sunshine, wondering what superpower I should have. I think it might be one of those that has something to do with birds. My superpower would be to fly above the sky, to watch the world below, to wonder at its beauty and at the miracles in it.

_Cindy Eigl is an illustrator and children's book author and owner of Little Bean Press._


**One for One**

"What do you want from this world?" the world sd. "A single drop of joy."

"I want you to take my single drop of joy," sd the little boy.

"The world says it's enough," sd the world.

"I want you to take it," sd the little boy.

"I can't take all your joy," sd the world.

"That's the right answer," sd the little boy.



"My father makes me give up my morning coffee, but I don't get anything for lunch."

"He should be ashamed of himself," sd my mother.

I didn't say anything. I knew she was right.

"That's terrible!" she sd. "I can't even give my husband a hug."

"You could," I sd.

"If I did, he'd just want more. I don't want more. I just want my hug."

"Maybe he'd feel better if he knew that."

"He doesn't know that. He only thinks about _himself._ "

I watched as the last spoonful of cereal scraped into the bowl.


**The Magic Box**

"Don't touch me!" the woman cried.

"Who?" asked the boy.

"The one with the white hr!"


"Right there! That old witch! She's the one! I know it! She did something to me!"

"What did she do?"

"She turned me into an old woman!"


"She doesn't want to age, you know. She's in hiding."

"Is she a ghost?"

"Of course!"

"Why? What's she doing?"

"She's got powers, you know. She sd she could do things. So she turned me into this old bag. I was fine when I woke up this morning, and now..."

"Where is she now?"

"She went inside a shop," sd the woman.

"What shop?"

"You know—the magic shop."

"Oh," sd the boy. "What's it called?"

"The Magic Box."

"What's that?"

"That's where she is!"

"Are you sure? Are you _really_ sure?"

"Yes! You'd better tell your mother to turn her back into a boy before she turns the

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