Clear the Table

The midday glare off that pool ladder got too blinding, so I moved off the deck into the cabana shade. Sitting right beside a wicker lounger was a low wooden side table. On top of the cedar slats sat a heavy, sweating plastic tumbler half-full of melting ice. The water ring pooling beneath it was creeping toward the edge. I grabbed the table leg, scaled the rough grain, and planted both boots on the tabletop. Stepping right up to the wet tumbler, I braced my shoulder against the condensation-slick plastic and shoved with full force. It slid across the damp cedar with a heavy scrape, coming to rest firmly against the center post out of the way. With the perimeter secured, I sat down flat against the shaded wood.