They both carried buck eyes around with them at all times. He kept his in his bag; the little pocket that could be used for pencils and pens. She kept hers in her purse. They would forget they was there. Never looked at, never poured over with rough fingertips. Its surface was never rubbed for good luck. It just sat there in the folds of his bag and next to the tampons and mirrors in hers. But they both had one. They had a kid, too. He was crazy and he grew and grew and grew. At times they never knew when they could get a breath in on their on. At other times they wondered how they lived without the child. Clothes at first would be too big, and then there were small.
Once, not too long ago it felt, but really decades, they had biked around university lakes together. Stopping near an old oak tree to watch the pelicans drift in their lazy circles; it was winter. All these birds just came to their lakes. He noticed them first on his runs and then he started to invite her. Parks all over the world have signs that say "don't feed the birds bread," but like everyone else they always did. "I touched one!" she shouted out as a goose was lurking near her for bread. A boy was learning to walk. His parents watched lovingly from a distance as he took his first steps onto the stage...