The Reader - Week 9
The dream starts.
I am alone, waiting.
She said that she was under surveillance,
But there were times when she could slip away.
I got her text, saying that she’d be over in five minutes.
That was a pretty long five minutes, I thought.
Then I realized that time didn’t matter so much in a dream.
Suddenly, there she was—at the screen door.
She came in and shut the inner door behind her.
“It’s alright,” she said, her brown eyes flashing,
“He thinks I’m studying for my GED.”
It’s funny how much younger I am.
And how much younger she is, too.
And the force of gravity is about 50% less.
She waits for a second, as she always did.
Then she pounces.
A tangle of tresses.
A trickle of sweat.
She knows just what to do.
Life is good.
If only in a dream.
Andy woke up with a start.
The space in the bed next to him was warm.
He smelled coffee.
The Reader is serial fiction, published every Friday.