Dreams for Stones
“He hadn’t had the nightmare in over a year, but it was still as bright and clear as the day it happened.
He lay still, breathing carefully, waiting for his heart rate to slow down and the discomfort in his throat and chest to ease.
So what was the proper term for a man who kisses a woman then dreams of his dead wife? Conflicted, peculiar, bizarre, pathetic?
No doubt, Elaine could come up with several more esoteric terms.
He turned his head to look at the clock. A large, red 3:14 glowed back at ...him. He shifted his gaze to the wall at the end of the bed. In the dim light, all he could make out was the outline of Meg’s picture.
He turned on the lamp and lay there looking at Meg. In the picture, she was leaning against the corral, smiling at the camera, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans, the tiny diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand catching a spark from the sun.
Meg. She was woven so tightly into his memories, if he rooted her out there would be nothing left. And yet what he wanted to remember often seemed to slide beyond his grasp, like a dream he could still sense but couldn’t quite pull into focus.MoreLess
He lay still, breathing carefully, waiting for his heart rate to slow down and the discomfort in his throat and chest to ease.
So what was the proper term for a man who kisses a woman then dreams of his dead wife? Conflicted, peculiar, bizarre, pathetic?
No doubt, Elaine could come up with several more esoteric terms.
He turned his head to look at the clock. A large, red 3:14 glowed back at ...him. He shifted his gaze to the wall at the end of the bed. In the dim light, all he could make out was the outline of Meg’s picture.
He turned on the lamp and lay there looking at Meg. In the picture, she was leaning against the corral, smiling at the camera, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans, the tiny diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand catching a spark from the sun.
Meg. She was woven so tightly into his memories, if he rooted her out there would be nothing left. And yet what he wanted to remember often seemed to slide beyond his grasp, like a dream he could still sense but couldn’t quite pull into focus.MoreLess
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