My son has a swim meet. He's in eighth grade, but is all excited because the meet is in the high school pool. Tonight is also the night my Yoga class meets at the "Y", so I'm trying to balance the two things. Our leader has been doing Yoga for years and is so relaxed she can't keep track of time. Yoga runs long again.

By the time it's over, I'm late, and concerned because Tim's bag is still on the back seat where he forgot it when I dropped him off, which means he has no clothes to change into. I skip showering, strip off the leotard and throw on a pair of Adidas shorts and a t-shirt. I have nothing on beneath them, but it's not like I'll be getting out of the car again before we get home, and it's only Tim.

Sure enough, when I get there the meet is long over. Everyone is gone, even the buses from the visiting school. One car is pulled up outside the doors. In the vestibule, I recognize poor Tim, waiting beside his coach. It's raining now. He comes running out to the car, his legs white against the darkness. pulls the door open, and jumps in.

"Where the heck have you been, Mom? I've been standing around in this suit for hours. Mr. Thompson was about to call dad at work."

I wave to Mr. Thompson, who returns it less than enthusiastically.

"Hey, buster," I say through my fake smile. "You're the one who left it on the back seat. Don't go off on me because I'm not changing your diapers any more."

We live twenty miles outside town, so I didn't ask Tim why Mr. Thompson didn't offer to drop him off. It's really raining now. The wipers can hardly keep up. The road shines with it, smooth and black, the white lines marking the shoulders are less than brilliant this late in the year.

He wiggles on the seat. "I wish I could get these off."

I gesture. "Go ahead. It's dark. I won't peek, stud." ......(cont)