Borrowed Horses
“Twenty-five thousand people provide decent cover. My circle was small and didn’t intersect with many others, and so I made an easy slide back into invisibility. I’d passed Dave only once, going the opposite way on Main Street, each in the cabs of our separate trucks. I’d just lifted my fingers in the standard truck-to-truck two finger wave when I realized which truck I was waving to. In his turtleneck sweater and wire-framed glasses, he reminded me of a picture of Ernest Hemingway that I’d once seen on a postage stamp, only younger, blonder, and better looking. Dave had seen me at once, eyes locking on mine. His gravity exerted its pull, but I shifted my eyes, gripped the wheel, pressed the accelerator. He didn’t have time to turn.Winter passed, and spring; June built toward hotter July. The nightshift had a peculiar way of erasing time, the dark nights anonymous, one melting into another. Each patient brought a glimpse into other lives, but those moments never lasted long enough.
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