When he turns he feels the palm of her hand on the small of his back the way his mother had rested hers that night when she leaned over and whispered something he couldn’t hear, the fragrance of her Chanel perfuming the atmosphere, awakening him from a dream about trains traveling back and forth through the fog, like a misplaced memory from an old Western he’d been watching on TV.  He felt the heat of her breath penetrate his neck and by the time he was conscious enough to roll over and wake up, she was walking away, the swish of her black sequined gown unmistakable as it threw off tiny bolts of lightning like distant comets in the dark.

 


                         
                                    Excerpt from SEPTEMBER 10TH





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