Without Consolation

But soon life intruded into that waking dream. She was bored with her job and looking into other options within the university. The course with the best professor in that period had been cancelled and replaced by one taught by the worst teacher not only for the period but in the whole department. Few things could've made it worthwhile, but she was one of those few.

Now seated, a foot or two of unoccupied space all around him, and his skin slowly acclimating to the intense but dry heat, he followed the recommendation and took a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes and took another, then another. The hot air did open his lungs and, gradually, began to melt away his discomfort. He noticed a distinct scent, an odor that must've been from the unfinished cedar covering every inch of the room except the light and the heater.

But life has no use for such remorse and time dissolves those visions of doom, lightening sky prying entrance around drawn shades, enough light to show this: me on my back, you half on your side, your head resting on my chest, us both asleep but waking gradually to find ourselves together, safe at last. It is a moment no one can ever take from us. It is the only meaning offered by that night that will survive time's erosion.

You turn to face me, have sensed my gaze all along but waited it out, another gift. You find my eyes and grasp the love they speak. You smile at that, pleased, but don't move to bridge the few yards between us. Exchanged across that gap is whole love, a thing as undeniable as the air we breathe, the sun we praise. Love without touching.

The man pushed himself up out of the chair with his arms, stood a moment to wake his legs, then shuffled forward to the counter. He plugged in a fluorescent light that was mounted under the counter and the detailed designs and rich colors of the tins leapt out into the dim room.

She stood in her azure and cream print dress with short sleeves and a scoop neck. She had on a simple pearl necklace. She slipped into her calf-length camelhair coat that was open in the front and had no belt.

This embrace had been all he'd thought about, when he'd had time to let his mind drift, for the ten days since he'd seen her last. Now claimed, he didn't want to let it go. He would protect her forever, but thought he needed to know what he was protecting her from, having forgot, just that fast, he already had his answer.

I'd forgotten how lonely this hill could be. So now I guess you just can't leave. The trees and the hawks and the fish in the pond won't have it, not to mention this one forlorn soul rattling around in his too quiet cave. In all my hours of solitude, I've been steadily retyping the final draft of the novel, incorporating all your careful observations and corrections. If only I'd had your meticulous eye on my previous manuscripts.

It was labeled with a white sign out front though its lofty stature and dignity, brick veneer, a two-story front porch, chimneys at each end, marked it as the focal point long before the sign was legible. They walked up the wide front steps and stood on the broad porch. It was a joyful reunion with lots of wine to go along with the lasagna and garlic bread and salad and cheesecake.

The tangible belied the surreal, there was a physicality to their waking dream. What's more, they had each other, wherever this dream took them, they were going together. He offered several recommendations for local souvenir shops and warnings about two places to definitely avoid.