by Lance Allen
***
She speaks to him. While he sleeps. Where dreams tell you things. Show you pieces of the life not yet lived. Contentment wraps him in slumber. He squeezes her hand and she smiles. Behind her a kite soars in the breeze, children running beneath, laughing and jumping. The grass is soft and cool under his head. A distant rumble of a freight train; the faint squeal of a whistle.
We don't have to go she says
I wish we wouldn't he responds
Then let’s put it off and go next weekend
It'll be too late by then. Besides it won't take long. We can stop for dinner on the way back. My treat!
She tosses his hair and settles down next to him, reaching around and pulling him close. She kisses his ear. Soon she too is asleep. And dreaming.
***
The freeway is packed with the usual weekend throng. Cars loaded with people and things going here there and nowhere. Somewhere. So many people with so many places to be and not one of them probably understands where or why they are going there. Some any way. We get up and move about to keep from understanding those things that nudge us ever closer to the edge. He has to stop soon. He needs another drink.