Saturday, February 7, 2009
"I'm trying to play the trumpet" he calls out to me from sleep, and I marvel at a dream world made of such simple pleasures. I read from The Bell Jar until his voice makes the funny stretching noise, and I smile and ask "How was the concert?" He chuckles. "Oh, you know about that?"
He quiets. "I remembered my tux but I forgot my dress shirt." I'm sad now, I know this dream but with lost lines, a misplaced class schedule.
"Then I got into a red truck."
The red truck we passed on the highway, I had stared hard into it seeking horror, like a rubbernecker straining to tell in split seconds if blood was shed in a roadside wreck.
I can't believe he noticed.
I wonder how much more I've missed.