IV
472 Words
IVI HAD MY ARM AROUND her again as I walked her up her concrete sidewalk to her ranch-style home in a 60's subdivision, where the neighboring houses were so similar to only differ in paint and front shrubbery.
Heri looked up at me while we were in the yellow bug-repellent porch light. "Thanks Sol. You're one in a million or more. Oh, the food was good, too."
I bent down and kissed her lightly. "We'll see you in school on Monday. Our only class."
A small frown creased her forehead. "I'm worried about that idea I had.” Then she brightened, optimistic. “The next few days will tell." At that she pulled away and skipped up the steps to touch the front door knob. Turning, she winked at me and went inside with one smooth motion.
Of course, I smiled all the way home.
ON MONDAY, SHE WASN't in class. The rumor was that she had a sudden death in the family and had to take a trip out of state. Her seat was empty and stayed empty.
I drove by her house soon after that and found a "For Sale" sign out front, and the place all empty like her family had never lived there.
The semester had finals shortly after, and then school was over for the summer. I had a job lined up, and other matters took her place in my thoughts - mostly.
I finally accepted it like another fact of life. She never wrote me. And I never found anyone who could dissolve fiction into non-fiction to come up with a completely new and unique compound.
Heri had probably found a universal solvent that erased her from my and anyone else's universe. Almost.
When I graduated, I left town myself, and my life became a series of adventures in other towns and places. I had no use for the graduating class of that small town's school, so never kept in touch with any of them. I learned a new set of customs to replace the pitch-and-woo of teen-dom, some that would keep me employed until I discovered I could write and make enough income to fire my last boss.
But last night, Heri came to me in my dreams, when I was looking for inspiration. And we cuddled, while the back seat of that 50-something Chevy and its curtains came into my mind as a backdrop. "Just hold me," she said.
And so I did, as long as I could that night.
And when I woke, I wrote this story.
Because she is still out there, somewhere. As long as I continue to believe, that thought never disappears, it's only transmuted to another form.
Are the mysterious beings who control our thoughts real?
Probably as real as you believe.
THERE WAS JUST ONE problem with all that, and why I deleted the original ending and started writing this again.
Heri wouldn't stay out of my dreams.
- Writer
