She
spun the glass in small circles. Amber fluid, amber table, amber lighting. He
lifts his glass to his lips; less to drink than to think. Sets it down. His
heavy mug, her petite shot-glass. He leans in. The band plays the bridge.
“Do
you dream?” he asked.
“Not
much I remember. Mostly black and white.”
“Daydream? If we weren’t here…Where’d you want to be? If
you could be…”
Her
turn to drink. “You gonna eat those fries, mister?” Eating the fry like a
professor using a smoking pipe. “Don’t know. Travel, teach….” Shoulder shrug.
“The business, the bills…You? Why?”
“It’s
just; there’s gotta be more! The poets and the Instagram people; Acuff, Goff.
Different leages? Different card hands?” Speaking of hands; raises his, flags
down the waitress. Downs his drink.
“Before
this,” she takes a long swallow. “Before this I thought I’d save the world.
Make a dent. But it’s hardly a dent. Maybe a ping; if that’s a thing.”
“I
think it’s Shakespeare, “The pings a thing to catch a king.” She rolls her
eyes. “So if God’s as big as we say; what if?
Is this it? Should there be an
‘after this?’ Or a ‘during this?’ If so; then what?”
“So
does more...?,” her voice trails off. “What does more look like? Is it inside
us? Outside?” She stretches her legs out
straight, leans back into the chair. A horn honks in the street. The band plays
a new set; saxophone heavy.
“Maybe
we’re to constrained; to adult, to serious,” she says. “What if we stretched…? He
raises his eyebrows. “Stretched one thing, risked one thing towards dreaming
this week? Worst case…more hop in our
step. So? What’s your goal?”
“Stay
alive. Then; I don’t know. Is praying a
step?”
“I
think so,” she said. “As long as you’re
moving. Standing still’s not a
step. Unless you’re listening---then it's a step.”
“Praying’s
my step then. Yours?”
“I’m
going to research world-changing agencies!
I’ll share Tuesday!”
“Til
Tuesday then,” he says stepping outside with a small hop in his step.
