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Last night I had a dream that my boyfriend Jeremy was dying. I woke and I studied the alarm clock. It was three a.m. I stared up at the ceiling and I listened. I heard the rustling of the branches. The moon was shining in.
I put a jacket over my pajamas. I didn’t bother wearing shoes. I went out to my car and turned on the ignition. I waited a few minutes, tried again. Something wasn’t working.
I got out and walked a few blocks away. I stood there, in his driveway. His house looked like a face, dark and quiet, and a small light was shining from his bedroom. I could see a large picture that I’d drawn him. It looked back at me. I could see it in the window.
I stepped up, and I knocked on his door. I sat on his step and I was thinking. I thought about the things he told me yesterday. He reminded me he loved me. But he also told me that, to me, he was never getting married. I waited for a while.
“What is it?” he said, opening the door. He turned on the light. He was looking at me, squinting.
“I can’t sleep,” I said.
He stepped up to me and smiled. The air was cool and I felt a little chilly.
“Take my car,” he said. He knew I would be driving. He walked over to the table. He was wearing a red t-shirt and a shiny pair of boxers. He handed me his keys.
I got in his car and I turned on the headlights. He stood out on his porch. I watched him as he watched me. I sat there for a while. Some nights I could drive forever. He was waving. He kept on until I pulled away.
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