She avoided his gaze, feigning interest in an ad on the crinkled paper in her hand. Her face sagged as if the weight on her mind had settled in her cheeks and the folds beneath her eyes. Mike wished he could do more to assuage her anguish. She wasn’t herself anymore. Large chunks of her personality had seceded to the melancholy of loss since her brother Frank died four months ago, and he wanted desperately to see her old spunk and spirit again.

Becky glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she centered the vase on the coffee table and removed another item from the moving box. “Don’t pressure me. We have no idea what’s in that stuff. What if something goes wrong? Angela’s cousin bought cocaine from that gas station attendant in Pickens last year, remember?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. He died because there was Drano or something in it.”

“Uh-huh. Angela said it ate a hole in his nose.”

Becky didn’t even know the worst of it. Angela’s husband told Mike that the poor guy died alone in his apartment. When the neighbor found the body, she said there were red freckles all over the place like he had been sneezing blood uncontrollably.

A shudder rippled through his body, and his proposition lost much of its appeal.

“Where’d you get that stuff, anyways?” Becky asked, placing an antique music box next to the vase.

“This guy from work, Carl. You met him at the Halloween party last year.”

Her eyebrows dropped and her chin jutted in deep concentration–a gesture that always made Mike laugh. He called it her cavewoman face. She pretended to hate that, but he knew better.

The cavewoman disappeared, replaced by the bright enlightenment of remembrance. “The guy with the little mustache who kept asking me if I had any single friends?”

“Yep, that’s Carl. He told me about this stuff a while back, but I didn’t really get the idea until last week. I remembered him saying that the experience really ‘set him free.’ I dismissed him at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Carl’s a bright guy. Real bright. In fact, he makes me look like a stain on a white T-shirt. He started working there seven months after me, but he’s already two tiers higher on the totem.”

“He seemed kinda silly to me.”

“Oh, he is. No doubt. But he’s still as smart as they come.” Mike paused and placed a hand on her knee to grab her attention before proceeding. He wanted to ensure his point was made. “I don’t want to pressure you. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll flush these pills right now. Seriously. We can unpack the DVD player, curl up on the couch and watch a flick. Don’t think I’ll be resentful or anything. It was just an idea, nothing more.”

Picking up the plastic baggy, he walked toward the kitchen. “As a matter of fact,” he said without looking back, “I’m dumping them down the sink right now.”

“Well … wait. I didn’t say no. I just want to feel like I have a choice.”

Mike stopped and turned around. “Okay…”

“What do they do? All I know about Flight is what you hear on the news. Your body tingles and you hallucinate. But they say you can’t move or control yourself. Sharon Summers did that special on CNN and said users turn into catatonic vegetables.”

Mike shuffled his feet. He wasn’t sure himself. He knew most people called it Flight, but some referred to it as Fourth Dimension, Limes, or OB for Out of Body.

“Carl said he couldn’t really explain what happened. He said to take one pill, wait about fifty minutes, and then Boom! your world changes. He said on one end, it’s like you’re in a paint-by-numbers picture. You see this general outline of the world around you, all black and white and gray. But you can change the colors just by thinking about them. On the other end, it’s like you’re a guardian angel for yourself. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds cool.”

Her face showed horrified fascination as he relayed Carl’s explanation. What he left out was that new drugs like Flight were untested. No FDA studies on the long-term or even mid-term effects existed. For all they knew, they might grow tentacles and crave salt water three years after dosing.

“I’ve never done any drugs,” she muttered. The cavewoman was back.

“Pfff. You need coffee like diabetics need insulin.”

“Hey!” She scoffed at him mockingly. “You better watch it, Waltz.”

Mike grinned. Ever since he proposed, she had made a conscious effort to work his last name into her vocabulary as often as possible. The idea of changing the name you grew up with seemed absurd to Mike. For twenty-nine years she had faced the world as Becky Milford. Nearly three decades of teachers, friends, co-workers, doctors, dentists, and magazine subscriptions had recorded her name as Milford. But now, because they had chosen to spend their lives together, that name was being erased. Mike couldn’t imagine changing his and was more than prepared for her to hyphenate her own. But that idea didn’t even seem to occur to Becky. She was a Waltz now, and always had been.

“I don’t know,” Becky said. “What if we get addicted?”

“We’ll make a pact. Just this once. Then, never again.”

The weight gone from her face, she said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

#

Becky organized the boxes in the bedroom, laid out the Egyptian cotton sheets, and fluffed the pillows. She draped a silk scarf over the shade, and the room bloomed with a diffused red light.

Meanwhile, Mike showered. Nervousness excited his thoughts, and he fantasized about the adventure to come. What would it be like? What would they see, feel, hear, taste, experience? Would they emphatically tell their friends about it as Carl had? One beer got Becky buzzed, how would she react to a hallucinogen? Hell, how would he react? He had toked (did people even say that anymore?) some weed in college, but this stuff wouldn’t, couldn’t compare to that.

Simply anticipating the drug was a high.

When he got out of the shower, he dressed and entered the bedroom to find Becky sitting on the edge of the bed with her hair tied back into a bun and her feet pulled beneath her in the straight-backed pose of an enlightened monk.

She was nervous, but at least her mind was off of her brother for once.

“You ready?” Mike asked.

She looked at him with wide eyes that said no. “Sure,” she said in a frail voice, and opened her hand to reveal the tiny lime-green football in her palm.

Mike approached and clasped her open hand between both of his. “We don’t have to do this.”

“No. I mean … I want to.” She tried to smile, but faltered.

“Sure?”

She popped her hand to her mouth in response. Her throat and mouth worked as she collected enough saliva to swallow the pill.

Mike looked at her with pride. “Impressive. Didn’t even need water. You sure you’ve never done this before?”

She giggled and said, “That’s right, Waltz, I’m down to get high.” She drew the last word out as if she were receiving a pleasant shot of morphine. “So what now?”

“Should be awhile before it kicks in, which reminds me.” Mike grabbed his pill from the dresser, and swallowed it. “We’re supposed to hold hands when it starts. Carl said we’ll go together, whatever that means.”

“Ok. What should we do until then?”

Mike sat on the bed next to her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in tight. “Tell me about how we’re gonna decorate the new house.”

#

Forty-minutes and a lifetime of plans and dreams passed while they talked. The conversation came naturally and in excited bursts. Mike rejoiced as he saw the old Becky coming out. Her ears perked, the green of her eyes sharpened, and she seemed to gain a general interest in life again. The drug–or as he began to think of it, the solution to Becky’s slough–was producing better results than he had hoped for.

“Mike,” she said, lying back on the bed. Her legs dangled off, and she began swinging them, lightly kicking the mattress with her heels.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m feeling something…” she trailed off as if she had forgotten to end her sentence.

“Lay back on the pillow. I’ll get on the other side.”

They lay next to each other, stretched out on the king-size mattress like two strangers sharing a bed. A tingle crept up Mike’s spine, and nestled in the back of his mind where head met pillow. He reached for Becky, found her smooth forearm, and grasped her hand. He sensed her head roll to face him, and Mike realized that he was unable to do the same. It wasn’t that his head was too heavy or that he didn’t have the will to move. He simply couldn’t.

“Whoa,” Becky said from inside a dream.

Mike wanted to respond, but the ceiling had captured his attention. The popcorn texture was moving. The entire ceiling was covered in lines of marching white ants. His view of the room tilted. The ceiling vanished, giving way to the wall at the foot of the bed. Mike knew the wall was empty–they were still the clean white of a fresh home–yet black lines swayed and swooped down the wall in long, sinuous tendrils. They writhed on the white canvas, dancing like a canopy of vines in a gentle breeze.

A memory popped into mind. Carl’s words. ‘…you can change the colors just by thinking about them.’ As soon as the thought came to full fruition in his mind, the black vines turned red, then green. The boxes in the corner melted and reformed into green vegetation. The white behind the vines vanished, replaced by dark undergrowth. The scent of humidity and compost wafted in and out of his nostrils, teasing him with the pungent odor.

The tingle in the back of his head seeped to all parts of his body as he lifted into the air. He rose higher and higher until he had a landscape view of the jungle that was once a house. The sun stuck to the horizon like a painted backdrop in an old western. The moon, shy and faded, was beginning to show itself in the farthest reaches of the sky from the sun. The jungle throbbed with life, and in a clearing at the heart of the thicket, the bed. Amazingly, Mike saw himself lying there. His hand still gripped Becky’s as their eyes darted and twitched beneath closed lids.

Mike wondered if she saw the jungle, too. He hoped so, because this was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. He almost couldn’t wait to get back to reality so he could tell her about how their new home had transformed into Tarzan’s backyard.

A rainbow extended from the jungle floor in the distance and slowly arched across the sky until the other end met the side of a mountain.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

Mike twisted around in mid-air, unsure and uncaring of the hows or whys of it, and found Becky floating behind him. She was leaning back with her hands behind her head in defiance of gravity.

“Becky,” he said. “So this is what Carl meant about us going together.”

“I suppose. Did you like what I did with the rainbow?”

“You did that?”

“Sure. Aren’t you the one who put us in a jungle?”

“I guess so,” he said, knowing it was true, but only realizing it as a result of the question.

“What else do you think we can do?” She started flying in slow circles around Mike, moving fluidly through the air.

Mike scanned the area, and caught sight of a colorful bird. He thought of the botanical gardens where he had proposed. Besides exotic flowers and hedges in the shape of elephants and rearing horses, Wemberly Gardens had one of the largest aviaries in the southeast. And Becky loved birds.

Mike shut his eyes and tried to picture every detail of the day he popped the question–the misting rain, air cold enough to bunch them together, but not drive them indoors, and even the Asian couple who couldn’t stop taking pictures. When he reopened his eyes, the jungle was gone, replaced by neat rows of hedges, intertwined with a concrete path. To the right, near a grand fountain, was the glass and steel dome of the aviary. Small shadows glided around inside. A camera flash popped.

“Oh, Mike,” Becky exclaimed. Happiness radiated from her with enough intensity to make the sun jealous. She drifted to him. They embraced, and slowly sank toward the ground. They kissed with the passion of a forbidden love and held each other until their feet found the bed.

Mike briefly wondered what had happened to their bodies, but lust soon made him forget. They made love for what seemed like hours, days, months.

All thoughts and sensations seemed both ephemeral and eternal at the same moment as their bodies became one.

#

When Mike and Becky came to, they found themselves in the same plank-like positions. Becky’s face said it all. Incredible. Amazing. Stupendous.

Wow, just wow.

They went to sleep in each other’s arms–the first time since her brother’s death–and in the morning, Mike awoke to Marvin Gaye and bacon.

#

“So-ooo, how was your flight?” Carl asked the following Monday in the break room.

“In-effing-credible,” Mike responded. He glanced at the white-shirted supervisor who was digging for something in the back of the fridge. They waited for the rotund man to find what he needed and leave before continuing. “I wouldn’t be caught dead using a phrase like ‘that blew my mind,’ but I can’t think of any better expression for what happened to us.”

Carl clapped him on the back. “I don’t like giving too many details away to virgins. Adventure is in the exploration.” He grinned wisely.

“Could you…,” Mike glanced around, “get some more of that? Becky wants to try it one more time.”

The wise grin morphed into concern. “You sure? I thought this was a one time deal?”

“We’re making it a two time deal. Becks has been down for the past while and I think the other night really took a load off.”

“Okay, but you guys need to be careful. Flight isn’t addictive in the physical sense. But it is in the mental sense.” He pushed a stiff finger against his temple. “Especially for people who are trying to escape reality. But … I’m not one to deny anybody a goodtime. After all, life is all about impulse and satisfying those impulses, am I right?”

Such philosophical ideas were beyond Mike. Life is all about impulses? “Sure, sounds good. So you’ll do it?”

“For you, buddy? The world.”

#

The second time was better than the first. They planned ahead, mapping out everything they wanted to try. She wanted to see the wonders of the world. But not the current wonders–anyone could grab a National Geographic and see the Great Wall or the Pyramids. She wanted to stroll through the Hanging Gardens of ancient Babylon and climb the lighthouse of Alexandria and sit on Zeus’ lap like some gargantuan Santa Clause.

And they did all that. They even had time to throw red rocks a hundred miles across the surface of Mars and watch the Earth rise from the moon. The reality of the Earthrise was so vivid and breathtaking that tears built in Becky’s eyes. Mike could almost see the changes taking place in his fiancée as the white-blue swirl broke the moon’s horizon.

#

“You should see if Carl can get some more Flight,” Becky said the next morning as casually as a Sunday drive.

“I don’t know, Beck. Carl said we could get addicted.”

“Addicted? I thought you said that stuff was safe?”

“It is. But if you recall, this was a one time thing.”

She nodded. Her gaze dropped to her hands, and the old darkness seemed to slide over her. “I suppose you’re right.”

#

“OB can take you out of yourself in more ways than one,” Carl warned. Mike sat on the visitor’s side of a mahogany desk in Carl’s spacious office. He’d been promoted again, putting him three levels above Mike on the totem. “Like I told you, life is about impulses. If she had continued on her merry way, ignorant to the little green pill, she’d be fine. All of her impulses would be satisfied. But oh wait, something new and amazing comes along and she’s no longer satisfied. Funny, huh?”

“Not really.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, buddy. Tell her I’m dry. My guy is all out. The feds busted him. Whatever, just tell her you can’t get anymore.” He sat back in his leather chair, and pushed the fingertips of each hand together. “Problem solved.”

“You think?”

“Yep. I told you, OB isn’t physically addictive. Before long, she’ll forget all about it. You’ll be saying ‘Remember the time we flew together?’ in weeks.”

Hope rose in Mike. Carl was right, of course. After all, he’s a bright guy.

#

When he told Becky the news–Carl’s supply got pinched, so no more Flight–she peered at him for a long time. He wasn’t a good liar. She smiled, conveyed her disappointment, and agreed that it was for the best.

Secretly, Mike shook his head at their role reversal. Hadn’t she always been the levelheaded decision maker in the relationship? When he had decided to buy a new car, she talked him out of it with calm reason, pointing out that his current car was paid off and running well. Why take on a car payment? For new and shiny? What about the future? Starting a family, she had said in a not so subtle hint, takes a lot of dough.

And here he was, worried he’d find her in a back alley somewhere, clutching a handful of lime-green pills. Ridiculous.

He embraced her in a full-bodied hug, and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”
“I know you do, Waltz.”

#

Work got busy, and even though they weren’t together as much as either would like, Becky’s good mood endured. She let Mike hold her at night, she focused on preparing a different gourmet meal on the weekends and every so often they would make love in the shower.

A full month passed before the prophecy was fulfilled.

They were driving home from steaks and drinks at Prime Cuts when Becky, staring at the moon, said, “Remember when we flew and watched the Earth rise?”

“How could I forget?”

#

Another month came and went, as did the season. With the first snow of winter, Mike wasn’t surprised to find the office nearly deserted. He went to his cubicle, logged into the system and started filtering his e-mails.

Not more than ten-minutes later, someone knocked on the carpeted wall behind him.

“Hey, Mike,” Pauline, the head of his department, said. Her stout frame filled the only exit.

“Morning, Pauline. What’s up?”

“Snow day,” she exclaimed, and her arms shot over her head as if she were declaring the field goal good. “The plow company that handles Mercer County has their trucks in Hastings. I guess the storm hit really bad over there. And since half our office lives in Mercer, and none of them can get out of their driveways, the benevolent whip-crackers on the tenth floor decided to give us poor souls who trudged our way to work the day off, too.”

“Really?”

“What the heck are you still doing here? Go home.” She shooed him with both hands. “Go on, get.” She laughed and disappeared to spread the word.

Mike barely remembered to log out of the computer before hurrying to the parking garage. The prospect of some alone time at home motivated him to weave through traffic and grey slushes of snow.

He slowed as he rounded the sign reading Fairfield. They had chosen a good neighborhood. After an exhaustive search, they had finally settled here because the properties were larger than average. The houses were smaller, but big enough for the two of them, plus a couple of kids. If needed. They hadn’t really talked about kids, yet. Becky wanted them, he knew, and so did he, but they had never openly admitted it to each other.

Mike turned left onto Saw Mill Lane, and spotted his house. A part of him had worried Becky would be home. As a daycare teacher, she often got released early on those random days parents were forced to stay home with their children–such as snow days. But today he was lucky. No lights were on.

The tires lost traction and slid diagonally, almost pitching him into the yard. A thin layer of ice covered the driveway. That’s what I get for shoveling in a hurry, he scolded himself.

He shut the car off, and walked through the snow lining the driveway so he wouldn’t slip. When he opened the back door, a rush of warm air invited him in, and he breathed in the scent of home.

Looking at the neat arrangement of photos hanging on the breakfast nook wall, he almost felt guilty for being there without Becky. He recalled her careful planning when choosing where to place each picture and which frame to hang it in. The pictures were in four neat rows of four pictures each, forming a mosaic-like square. Some pictures were of them at the beach, on top of a skyscraper, vacation in Baja. But a few, scattered in strategic locations for the sake of art, were black-and-white prints of Ansel Adam’s work in Yellowstone.

He pulled his collar open, made a sandwich, grabbed a beer from the back of the fridge, and plopped his happy ass on the couch. It’s only ten-thirty, he marveled. But, of course, the satellite’s out. Storm must’ve moved the dish again.

There was too much snow and ice on the roof to fix it, so he cranked the stereo instead. He put on his favorite Chili Peppers album, but after listening to a couple of songs while staring at a blank television, that grew old. He considered calling Becky at work, but thought better. If she wasn’t home, she was probably knee deep in toddlers.

Time alone wasn’t as much fun as he expected.

He decided to change out of his work clothes and into his sweat pants; maybe do some exercises. He flexed his buttocks as he walked, wondering when the last time he had lifted anything heavier than a ream of paper was.

When he walked into the bedroom, he paused at the sight of an unmade bed. Becky never left the house without making it. Not once since they moved in together. The comforter was pulled up to pillows that still held concave divots from where their heads had lain. Mike’s heart froze when the comforter began shifting. A tired moan followed. Becky? He grabbed the end of the comforter and whipped it off, revealing the disheveled lump of pale skin and auburn hair that was Becky. She still wore her pajamas, her arms and legs writhed slowly as if she were dreaming about trying to escape a tar pit, and she clutched a medicine bottle in one hand. Mike’s first thought was that she must be sick.

He pried the bottle from her fingers without waking her. He figured he could tell what was wrong by what she had taken, but the label was peeled away, leaving only a sticky residue.

He shook her. “Becky, wake up, I’m home. Becky.”

Her eyes floated open.

“Hey, are you alright?”

She reached an arm to his face and patted it as if she didn’t believe he was real.

“Do I need to call nine-one-one?” He tried to keep the worry out of his voice, and tried to pretend he didn’t already know what was wrong.

She smiled, reminding him of the blissfully ignorant grin babies have when they poop themselves. Her hand fell back to the bed, and her lips moved. Nothing came out at first, but little-by-little, words formed, then sentences and finally, a coherent thought.

“What you doing home … Waltz?” she said in a drunken voice.

“Tell me you’re sick.”

Her eyes wandered around the room, lost. “Sick? Not sick. I feel better than ever. Why? Are you sick?”

Rage was building near the surface. She was high. If Mike were younger and down with the lingo, he’d say she had just landed. “Where’d you get them, Beck?”

“What?” she blurted. “I already told you I’m not sick.”

“The pills,” he screamed, surprising himself. Becky didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t have any pills. Why would I have pills?”

He continued yelling, far beyond any kind of rational behavior. “Then what the hell are these?” Mike opened the medicine bottle, and spilled at least six tiny green footballs on the bed next to her. “Don’t lie, either. I want to know.”

A semblance of clarity returned to her eyes as she sat up. Her ears glowed with shame. “I didn’t know where else to go…”

“Becks. Please.”

“Carl,” she said with disdain. The rage in Mike died, and from the ashes came fear and sorrow. Carl. His friend. His confidant. And the way she said his name. It was like she was saying ‘Don’t expect me to stop, either.’

“You’ve been seeing Carl?” Just then, he flashed back to a time when his high school girlfriend admitted to dating him so she could get closer to his older brother.

“So. It’s just once in a while. I deserve to let loose once in a while.”

His entire body convulsed. He wanted to heave and cry, scream and punch, hate and die all at the same time. He wanted to burn the house down, but he also wanted to crawl beneath it and never come out. He looked at her, his eyes hot with tears, and she looked away. He stared until she caved and glanced back. Her eyes softened. The old, beautiful, caring Becky was still in there. Somewhere.

“I’m sorry, Mike. Frank died and you’re always working and I thought I could handle it, I mean, I was handling it, right? You had no idea, and it’s been weeks. And I … I …” Her face paled, and he could see a mental struggle occurring within her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I need to go back.” She picked two pills off the bed, swallowed them without remorse, and laid back. “Frank’s there, you know.”

“I know.”

“Come with me. You remember how beautiful it was? Remember watching the Earth rise?”

Mike couldn’t help but cry. How long had she been hiding this? Worse yet, how did he not notice? This wasn’t the person he had proposed to. This wasn’t the Becky who had become more than just part of his life, but the whole thing. That Becky was gone. A stranger lay in his bed.

“It comes faster now,” she said from a dream, and slipped away.

Mike cried until his body couldn’t produce another drop. Then he sat and watched her face as she slept–as she flew. She would wake up eventually, but not really. She’d never really be free. Once you experience a world like the one Flight offered, this one seemed almost painful in comparison.

He wrote a note on an index card, and took his time to find the perfect message for when she woke up. He wanted to be clear so she wouldn’t be confused. When he was finished, he placed it on her nightstand and turned the lamp on so she couldn’t miss it. Even if she didn’t come back until it was dark. It was important that she understand what he had done.

Mike tucked Becky into the comforter, leaving her arms exposed so she wouldn’t get too hot. He kissed her on the forehead, the nose, and the mouth. She was stiff and distant, and she would always feel that way now.

He gathered the remaining pills and set them next to his note. He then walked around the bed, lay next to his fiancée, and took her hand in his.

With his free hand, he quickly swallowed two of the pills he had kept for himself. The excitement of that first night built in him. He closed his eyes and thought about all the things he would do when he got there–when he flew with Becky.

And then he waited.

#

Dear Becky,

I’d go with you anywhere.

Catch you on the moon,

Mike

The best he could do was get one from somewhere back east. An all- night show for truckers, with ads for diesel parts, and weather reports up and down the interstates. Some DJ named Truckin’ Bob talking Southern and a lot of C&W music.Through the static, Alan could pick out the throaty voice of Patsy Cline and the lyrics.

“Pardon me if I’m sentimental when we say goodbye. Now and then there’s a fool such as I.”

He loved and hated that song. It was the one that he and Anne would dance to, harmonize to, whenever they went out to Mac’s Bar over in Rossville, which, near the end of their relationship hadn’t been that often. Still, he considered it theirs.The train was due in at 3:35, and it was now after four. Even with the heater going full blast, it was cold. January in Kansas could be a real ass-biter, especially before the sun came up. His ten-year-old New Yorker was not known for its dependability. He laughingly called it a Town Car, not a Lincoln, just a beater that you only dared take from one end of town to the other. And here he was, fifty miles from home, hoping to pick up his ex-girlfriend. He wished he knew whom to call to learn how far behind schedule the train was, but even if he knew the toll free number for Amtrak, he’d end up getting somebody in India who went by the name of Brian.

He could call Anne on the train, but he had left her number on the kitchen table back in Emmett. Besides, she was probably trying to sleeping, something impossible to do in coach. It was a long trip from Denver. No, nothing to do but wait. Far down the tracks, he thought he heard a train whistle. He clicked off the radio. It was either Anne’s train or a passing freight. He had fallen for the trick twice while waiting. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances.

Allan turned on the dome light and looked in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t real happy with what he saw. A man forty years old that looked fifty. A long face weathered from years of ranch work. His teeth a little discolored from years of smoking, although he had quit two years ago and was trying the whitening toothpaste that he had seen on late-night television infomercials. And graying hair, now sparse from the chemo. It wasn’t much of face to get a woman back with.

The train slowed, the screech of brakes drowning out any other noises available this time of the morning. There were a number of cars, baggage, dining, observation, that Alan didn’t pay attention to. His eyes were on the four coach cars in the middle. He wondered if she would really be on the train. After seven years would she recognize him? And, after all that had gone between them and now his illness, would she find him desirable?

The train came to a stop. From the second coach car, the conductor lowered the steps, and a woman climbed down, bag in hand. Even from a distance, Alan knew it was
Anne, thinner maybe, but with unmistakably long, auburn hair coming out of her winter hat and cascading down her back. He turned off the car, gave one last swipe at his uncooperative hair, not wanting to have any of it fall out onto his lap, and entered into the biting wind.

He met her half -way between the train and the parking lot.

“My God, it’s really you.”

“In the flesh. Were you expecting Angelina Jolie?”

Allen went to kiss her. She offered him her cheek. They embraced as well as they could with each wearing three layers of winter clothes.

“Jesus,’ she said. “I forget, is it always so cold here?”

He decided to keep it light. No need to give her reason for going back on the next train.

“Hell, this is summer. You’ve been getting soft out in Colorado.”

She took his arm to stay upright in the wind. “Please tell me you’re parked nearby.”

“Just a few yards over to the parking lot.”

He made sure to open the door for her, like he used to when she was his. She collapsed into the car, and he threw her bag into the back seat. He noticed, with a certain sadness, that she had only brought one, as if she wasn’t planning on staying long.

He started up the motor and turned the balky heater on full blast. “You hungry?”

“Starving. All I had from Denver to here was some fried chicken I packed before starting out. I wasn’t about to pay those fancy prices they charge on the train.”

He put the car into drive. “Then let’s get you some breakfast. Bacon and eggs sound okay?”

“Great, but what’s open this time of night in the boonies?”

The snow tires crunched gravel and bit into the road. “You forget about Roberta’s? That was always our place.”

She ignored the “our place” reference. “I remember it. But since when is Roberta’s open all night?”

“Since never,” he said. “But she opens up at five. It’ll be pretty much that by the time we get to Emmet. Hell, if we get there early enough the food might actually be fresh.”

She laughed despite her weariness. “Okay, let’s go.”

He worked his way out of Topeka and headed west on US 24 toward Silver Lake. Almost instantly, she was asleep, her head resting against the passenger door window. Out away from traffic, Alan kept looking over at her, partially to make sure she was really here. God, she’s beautiful, he thought. Older, of course, and her face with a few more lines, especially around the eyes. But her lips were red and full, and she still had that aura about her, the one he fell in love with the first time he saw her. He wished he could see her blue eyes, the pupils almost transparent when the sunlight was shining full on them. He wanted to kiss her awake, right then and there, but he knew that he didn’t dare.

He tried to remember what broke them up seven years ago. He always believed that if one person loved the other more than he was loved back, just the force of the feeling could keep them together. But with Anne, it hadn’t worked that way. It seemed like the more he tried to draw her to him, the more she moved away, like two magnets with the same polarity. Finally, she became so distant that she left on a night train to Denver. He never saw her again.

But he never stopped thinking of her, loving her. Even though she moved on with her life, he couldn’t. He stayed in Emmett simply because that was the last place that they had been together. And now she was back again. He realized it was only because he was sick and needed someone to take care of him. It didn’t make the cancer worth it, but it came close. At St. Mary’s, he turned north on State Road 23. There was little traffic this time of the morning. Any truckers were heading the other way toward Topeka. Alan kept his brights on to illuminate the darkened road. This was the time of day deer moved. It wouldn’t take much to have one slam into his windshield. Wouldn’t that be a joke? Man with cancer reuniting with old lover, killed by oncoming deer. Film at eleven. Next to him, Anne woke up and flexed the stiff shoulder she had been sleeping on.

“Jesus, where are we? We’ve been driving forever.”

“Just feels that way,” Alan said, trying to keep her spirits up. He didn’t want her having second thoughts. “We’re almost there. Twenty minutes out of Emmet.”

She rummaged in her purse and took out a cigarette. Alan noticed it hadn’t come from a pack but was loose in the bottom of her bag. He wondered if she had bummed it from someone on the train.

“Okay to smoke?” she asked, lighting up. She blew the smoke against the windshield. “So tell me, how bad is it? And for once, be honest.”

Alan stayed quiet for a good ten seconds, concentrating more on his thoughts than the road. “I don’t know,” he said, finally.

“You don’t know?” You have cancer. You’re set to take on experimental chemotherapy; stuff only tried on lab rats. How can you not know how sick you are?”

“I don’t know.” Whenever he was lost for words he would repeat the last thing he had said as if this would clear up the matter. It was a habit that had exasperated her when they were together.

“The doctor said I was sick. He said I needed this experimental treatment. He didn’t tell me how bad I was, and I didn’t ask.”

Anne took an extra long drag on her cigarette and slowly exhaled.

“Jesus,” she murmured.

Damn. He was starting off on the wrong foot even before they reached Emmett. “Look,” he said, “One thing I’ve learned through the years is to accept facts. Fact one, I’m sick. Facts two and three, I’m not a doctor, and my doctor says I need experimental chemo. Last fact, you’re here. That’s about all I need to know.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “God knows I’ve missed you,” she said.

He smelled her strawberry perfume and felt her warmth on his check.

“Been right here the whole time,” he said.They pulled into the parking lot of Roberta’s Diner, walked inside and found a table. It wasn’t difficult, the place was nearly empty.The waitress came over. From her looks, it seemed to Alan that she had tumbled out of bed and came straight on the job.

“What’ll you have?” she asked like she really didn’t care.

Anne perused the menu. “I haven’t eaten a proper meal in two days. I could eat the whole left side of the menu.”

“Go ahead,” Alan said. “It’s on me.”

“No, I have to watch my girlish figure,” she giggled. “I’ll eat light. Stack of pancakes, bacon and two eggs over medium on the side.” The waitress turned toward Alan.

“Just coffee. Black.”

Anne looked up at him. “You aren’t eating much.”

He took a sip of ice water. “Damn chemo kills my appetite. Plus, I always feel like my mouth is full of cotton.”

She reached over the table and took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. “Let me get a good look at you.” She studied his face. “You look like crap.”

He felt the softness of her hands and gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckle. “Got to admit, I’ve been better.”

“Then you really must be feeling bad,” she said. “All the years I’ve known you, I never heard you complain. You could be dying of a heart attack on the sidewalk and all you’d ask for is a glass of water.”

Their food came and Anne took back her hands. Mostly, they ate in silence, she her pancakes, he sipping his coffee and watching her. I could do this forever, he thought to himself.

Anne put down her fork. “Alan, I have to ask you this. Why did you call and ask me to come? I mean seven years is a long time.” He looked into his coffee and thought for a few seconds.

“You want the true answer or the semi- true answer?”

She laughed. “We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Lets start with the semi-true and work our way up.”

“Semi-true answer is I have to start experimental chemo at University Hospital over in Lawrence. They tell me I’m going to be pretty sick and I can’t drive myself there and home. I need somebody to help me. People in Emmett are just too busy with their own lives to cut out a swath of time for mine.”

“And the true reason?”

“I miss you.”

Anne frowned down at her eggs. “It’s been seven years, Alan. We all have to move on.”

“I miss you.” He was doing it again.

She pushed the plate away, unfinished. “Look, we’re going to have to deal with this. But right now, I’m just worn out. I need some sleep. I assume I’m staying at your place, at least for the time being, right? Can you just take me home?”

Alan loved that she used the word home, even if she really didn’t mean it that way. He paid the check, and they walked back to his car.

“How much longer?” she asked.

“You forgot after all these years? Seven miles over Park Road.”

Instantly, he regretted his words. If he wanted her to stay, he was going to have to learn not to push so hard.

They reached his place, got out of the car and walked up the drive.

Anne stepped inside and took a quick in -breath. “Pretty musty.”

Alan laughed. “Consider it Early American Bachelor.”

He threw her bag by the table. “The bedroom is all set up. Even changed the sheets. Talk about true love.”

He saw her face cloud over. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I set up the couch for me. You’ll have the bedroom to yourself.”

“Great. I really appreciate you coming to get me. I’m going to hit the sack. I’m exhausted.”

Within ten minutes, she was in bed. Alan took the couch but he found it impossible to sleep. It wasn’t just the chemo, which gave him insomnia. This was different. She was different. Her look, her smell, everything. In the next room. A world away. He fell asleep, dreaming badly, of Anne, hospitals, and medicine that doubled as poison. He felt a hand, Anne’s hand, shaking him awake.

“Alan, wake up. It’s Anne. I’ve been listening to you thrashing out here, moaning in your sleep. Night terrors my mother used to call it.” She gently pulled him into a sitting position. “Come to bed.”

She led him into the bedroom. ‘Now don’t get the wrong idea. No funny stuff and just for tonight. But it won’t hurt to have a body next to you for a change.” They crawled into bed, her back curled against his chest. “It’s all right. You can hold me. I don’t mind.”

#

Alan got up feeling well for the first time in months. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so soundly. He looked at the clock radio. 1:00 PM. He could hear Anne rummaging in the kitchen. He got out of bed. Like usual, his head began clanging. The chemo kicking in for the day.

“Morning beautiful,” he mumbled. “You’re up early.”

She was on all fours opening and closing cupboards. “Only if you think of the afternoon as early. Where the hell’s the coffee?” She slammed a cabinet. “How do you live like this?”

He took a jar of instant out of a drawer and filled the kettle with water. “Sorry. I only have instant. Bachelors look for the easiest way for everything.”

She grabbed the jar and spooned out a tablespoon each into two cups. “That clinches it. After coffee, you leave, disappear until five o’clock.”

“Disappear?” he repeated. “Like, to where?”

“I really don’t care. Get a haircut. Go bowling. Hire a hooker. Just don’t come back until I’m finished cleaning this place. Christ, I don’t know how you men do it.”

A few minutes later Alan put on his heavy jacket and hat. “I’ll be back at five.”

“Not a minute before,” Anne said. “And bring your appetite. I’m cooking dinner.”

#

Alan came back exactly at five with a bottle of champagne. He poked his head into the kitchen. Anne had two pots bubbling on the stove and was draining spaghetti in a colander over the sink.

“Safe to come in? Christ, you’ve been busy. What’s for dinner?”

She looked up. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in. Spaghetti and some bottled sauce you had in the cabinet. I tried to spice it up a bit. You sure don’t have much to eat around here.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t eat much, especially since the chemo. Leftovers sometimes, but mostly takeout from over in Wamego.”

He looked around. “Geez, the place looks different.”

“Try clean,” Anne said. “ I have to give you credit, you don’t do things half-assed. You’re a first class slob. Do me a favor, okay. Try to keep it reasonably clean, at least for a week.”

She put the food on the table. “Let’s eat.”

Alan opened the champagne and poured it into two juice classes.

“Sorry. I don’t have regular wine glasses. Don’t get much company.” Anne took a sip of champagne, made a sour face and laughed.

“And you obviously don’t drink champagne often either. This stuff is awful. I guess Thursday was a good year.”

She doled out two big plates of pasta and sauce. “Dig in.”

They ate, in silence, the spaghetti, sauce, and remains of a loaf of week -old white bread he had in the refrigerator. Alan tried not to look too intently at her, not to push it, ruin the moment. She was so beautiful, even after all these years. If only he could get her to stay– stay forever– to pick up what they had so long ago. Maybe, just maybe it was possible, if only he could keep it together.

They finished dinner, and he got up to help her clear off the dishes. Anne was surprised. “You don’t need to do that,”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind. My mother raised a gentleman.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I forgot. You always helped with the dishes. I remember when you did it the first time you ate with my family. You started clearing the table, and my brothers signaled to each other that you were gay.”

“Maybe I am.”

Anne snorted. “Fat chance. You forget, I lived with you.”

She stood at the sink and started washing the dishes. Alan couldn’t decide if she was more beautiful from the front or the back.

He knew he shouldn’t do it, knew it was courting disaster, but it was almost like he was in one of his semi-dreams that the chemo gave him at night. He walked up from behind, put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.

“God, Anne, I’ve missed you so much. Don’t you know I still love you?”

She started in surprise but recovered quickly. “Please, Alan. Don’t. You know that’s not why I came. We agreed to this over the phone.”

He let her go. “Yes, I know all that,” he said, in a hurt tone. “But now that you’re here, it’s hard. Tell me, don’t you feel it too, at least a bit?

She stayed at the sink her back to him. He couldn’t tell if she was crying.

“Yes. No. Jesus, I don’t know. Alan, I just got here, and I’m operating on something like five hours sleep.”

She turned to face him. “Look, you have to understand. I came here because you’re sick. To take care of you. Nothing more. You know how much I hated life here in Emmett. I felt trapped, like I was in prison.

“It’s been seven years,” she continued. “My life is tangled enough in Denver. I don’t need you to complicate it more.”

“Do you have someone back there? A lover?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “And there’s a kid involved. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

He sat down at the table, finished off his juice glass of champagne and refilled it. She was right. It did taste like crap.Anne finished drying the dishes. “I need a cigarette.”

She walked into the bedroom and came out with a slip of paper.

“I need you to do me a favor. Is the pharmacy over in St. Mary’s still open? ”

Alan was relieved to hear the change in her tone but surprised by the question.

“Yeah, it’s open ‘til eight or nine.”

“Great,” she said. “I got one of my allergy headaches and forgot to get this filled. Do you think you could run over to the drugstore for me?”

He put on his coat and hat. “I’ll try not to be long.”

She smiled, weakly. “Thanks. I appreciate it. But don’t be surprised if I’m asleep when you get back. I’m really whipped.”

#

It took an hour and a half for Alan to get the prescription filled and get back. He had been angry and impatient with the pharmacist. All the time in the drugstore, he could see Anne in bed with an allergy headache, suffering needlessly because everyone in Kansas was on slow time. For the first time in a long while he wondered why he stayed here, working the same job year after year. Maybe if he agreed to pack up, move to a big city like Denver, they could be together.

He arrived home and opened the front door. He didn’t want to wake her but he wanted to let her know that the medicine was available if she needed it. He thought about
knocking on the door and entering the bedroom but after the scene tonight at dinner, he wondered how she would react.

There was a note on the kitchen table pinned under the champagne bottle. He wondered if it might tell him what to do with the medicine, to wake her or let her sleep. He picked it up to read it better in the dim light.

Alan,

God, I hate Dear John letters. They’re so overdramatic, like an old three-handkerchief movie. But to use an old cliché, it really is better this way.
I can’t stay. I think we both know that. It would make us both crazy. I do love you, just not in the way you want. I know you need someone to care for you, especially going over to Lawrence for your treatments. I took the liberty of using your phone and called the Methodist Church here in Emmett. I finally reached some lady who runs the Women’s Auxiliary. I told her of your needs, and she asked if you were a regular churchgoer. I told her the truth—I’m not sure you’ve been to church three times in your adult life—but she said, “What the hell,” (those were her exact words). They’ll cut you a break.

So, they’re going to drive you to and from your treatments and watch over you at home when you need them.
We both know this isn’t what you really want. You want us. But there can’t be any us, not the way you want it. You’ll only be hurt, and I’ll only feel guilty.
So, I’ve caught a ride to Topeka, and I’m going to take the train back to Denver. Please don’t be too mad at me. I know it stinks, me sneaking off like this, but I just didn’t have the courage for a confrontation.

You will always be in my thoughts and prayers.
-Anne

That was it. Four paragraphs and she was gone forever.

He took the now useless prescription out of his pocket and put it on the table next to the note. Damn, but he wasn’t going to let it all die with a short note written in pencil.
He had to see her one last time. No confrontation, her mind was made up, that was plain. Just to see her, to get her in his mind’s eye. The one he would have to carry with him for the rest of his life.

He locked up, got in the New Yorker, and set a land speed record for getting to Topeka. He prayed he didn’t miss her before she caught the train. That, and for there to be no State Troopers out tonight. It took him only forty minutes. He pulled into the parking lot. Anne was sitting on the front step of the train station, freezing. He got out and walked up to her. She didn’t seem happy, either about seeing him or freezing in the January air.

“I could have told you that this is an unstaffed station. They keep it locked. You buy your ticket on the train.” She was shivering. “Alan, what are you doing here? Didn’t you read the note?”

“Loud and clear.” He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Look, I just wanted to say a proper goodbye. That’s all. No scene, no drama. But right now, all I want to do is get you out of the cold and into the warm car. I promise I won’t argue with you or try to change your mind. I just don’t want you catching pneumonia.”

She gave in and got in the car. Alan switched both the heater and blower on full. From the sound of the groan and whistle, the heating system of the old New Yorker was not happy about being tested. After a few minutes, the car began to warm up. Alan turned down the blower so he could be heard.

“How the hell did you get here anyway,” he asked. “I had the car.”

“Called a cab,” Anne said.

“Wait, let me get this straight. You took a cab all the away from Emmett to Topeka. That’s fifty miles. It must have cost you eighty dollars.”

“One-hundred with the tip,” she said.

He shook his head. “You must want to go home awful bad.”

“Alan, stop it,” she said, choking on her tears. “You know it’s not that. I don’t want to go. I have to go. And if you look at it with your head instead of your heart, you’d admit it, too.”

She took off her gloves and looked down at her hands. “I just can’t stay here and watch you die.”

“Everybody dies,” Alan said. “It’s a fact of life.”

“It’s not the cancer I’m talking about.”

Damn, he didn’t want to cry in front of her. That would seal it for sure.

“You don’t love me then? Even a little?”

She turned to him. “Of course, I love you. I’ve always loved you. Just not the way you need.” She heard a train. “Is that mine?”

Alan tried to look out the window that was fogging over from their breaths. “Yeah. Could be the eastbound Amtrak, but probably not. That one is the other people’s train. You’re headed west.” He reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet and gave her all the bills.

“You probably blew your whole wad on the taxi. Here, take this.”

Anne shook her head.

“Don’t be dumb,” Alan said. “You need money to eat, get home from the train station, whatever. Just take it. You spent enough getting to Kansas.” She took the money.

“I’ll send you a check as soon as I get home.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. One way or another, it’s fine.”

The train began to screech into the station. He took her bag sitting between them on the front seat, got out of the car and opened her door. They walked to the first available coach car. The conductor was waiting, looking at his watch, wanting to stay on schedule. Alan swung her bag up and started to help Anne up the three stairs to the railcar. She turned to kiss him, brought her lips to his ear so he could hear above the clamor.

“I love you,” she said. “I’ll always love you. Try to remember that.” Alan said nothing.

He watched her disappear into the coach car. The train began to move. He watched her mime goodbye from her window seat. The clacking of the wheels began in slow syncopation as the train moved, gathered up speed, and disappeared. Alan went back to the car. He started it and absentmindedly turned on the radio finding the same country and western music station he had on when he had picked her up. He drove off, west toward Emmett, with only the empty lyrics to lonely songs for company.

Jeffrey squinted up at the tallest of the mountains, trying to see through the haze created by the mist. He sighed a sigh of awe, wonder and relief. It had been a long time coming. Three long years of working a nine to five – nights and weekends – interrupted only when Jeffrey let himself dream, led him to this moment. It was all he’d ever wanted since meeting Maria in the vast community of the World Wide Web. Although he hadn’t heard from her for all of three weeks – she’d suddenly stopped writing – they’d planned the meeting months ago and Jeffrey was sure that she would keep her word. She’d wanted to meet him as much as he’d wanted to meet her. She was the woman of his dreams. He had no doubt about that. And now he couldn’t wait to meet her in the flesh, to hold her, to make her truly real.

He’d never seen anything like the little town that wrapped around him, the small city made even smaller by the immense Alps that protected it. The church bell struck six only fifteen minutes earlier and already the streets were empty, not that they’d ever been full. He came from a world bustling with businessmen; a world overwhelmed by traffic jams, billboards and billowing clouds of black exhaust. But here, there wasn’t a car in sight. The cobblestones beneath his balcony were blissfully bare. There was just mist and the magnificent mountains in the distance.

The craggy peaks looked cold and gray. The swollen, silvery clouds swirling around the summits made them look even colder. The white of snow made uneven tracks over the somber stone like meat marbled with fat. The mountains, surrounded by lush fields of green, made up the most beautiful sight Jeffrey had ever seen. Even the simple, yet fanciful, architecture of the fairy tale-like buildings and barns made him smile. Being immersed in the grind at home, he’d failed to realize that places like this actually existed.

Jeffery’s stomach grumbled. Despite the jet lag making his eyelids sag, it was dinnertime. He pushed against the railing of his balcony and staggered back inside his room, one of seven in the cozy little hotel Maria had recommended. Inquiring in the lobby, he learned that there was only one restaurant in town, which made his dinner decision exceedingly easy. He plucked an umbrella from the holder by the door and set out along the cobblestones.

The surroundings were so quiet, the air so clean. Fields of budding wild flowers sprawled around the edges of town. Hidden behind an austere stone wall, away from the timbered houses and the small specialty shops, was a cloister where the nuns who lived inside made and sold authentic Swiss cheese.

Jeffrey took tentative steps inside only to have the silence of the place stop him just beyond the doorway. The air within the cloister was so shockingly still that it made the rest of the sleepy little town seem loud simply because it had a breeze blowing through it. A woman with saggy cheeks, dressed in blue from head to toe, nodded at Jeffrey. He nodded back on his way out of the chamber that smelled distinctly of cheese: somewhat sour, yet remarkably sweet. Sometimes quiet was just a little too quiet. He continued on, tapping the umbrella against the cobblestones with every step he took.

It didn’t take him long to find the restaurant, but when he got there he wasn’t sure that he should go in. The curtains were tightly drawn. The door was closed without a sign upon it. Nor were there any signs in the windows. If it weren’t for a small circular symbol hanging off the side of the building – a dark brown edifice with a small front porch – Jeffrey wouldn’t have known that it was a restaurant at all. Shrugging, his stomach grumbling again, he started up the steps.

“Guten Abend,” a friendly female voice called as soon as Jeffrey passed through the door.

“Hello,” he said, squinting through the darkness to see who had called out to him. “Sprechen Sie Englisch?”

“Yes. A little,” she said, stepping out from the shadows to his right. Jeffrey knew she’d say that. Most of the locals he talked to said they spoke a little English even though they spoke it quite well. He admired their modesty. It was refreshing.

“I was told I could get something to eat here,” he said.

“Yes. Sit.” She gestured to a few tables on his left. They were all rustic looking things made of heavy wood. He took a seat at a table by one of the windows. She put a menu down in front of him. Jeffrey stared at the selections. Having left his German to English dictionary on the desk inside his room, he couldn’t make sense of a single one of them.

“Is there a house special?” he asked.

The woman nodded. “Yes,” she said, drawing out the word.

“I’ll have that, please.”

“Drink?”

“Beer?” he said, uncertain as to why he’d posed it as a question.

She smiled at him. “Of course.”

It came as no surprise to Jeffrey that he was the only one inside the restaurant. He wondered if the woman doing the waiting would do the cooking as well. While she was off filling a stein, he pushed the curtain aside over the window above his table and swung open the glass. No screen, he noted as a stream of light accompanied by a cool burst of air entered through the open window.

“American?” the woman asked when she returned with his beer.

“Yes. Thank you.” He took a sip.

“United States?”

“Chicago.”

“Al Capone,” she said, a smile spreading across her pleasant face as she made two make-believe guns with her hands.

Jeffrey nodded, returning the smile. He’d been told that many Europeans still equated his hometown with the infamous gangsters of decades gone by, and now he knew it was true. His eyes drifted from floor to ceiling. Everything in the restaurant was heavy and brown. From the old planks covering the floor to the panels on the walls to the rafters overhead, there was an overabundance of dark wood. Aside from the red in the curtains, color was hard to come by.

“What’s that?” Jeffrey asked, jerking his chin toward another wooden artifact hanging from the wall. The ray of light streaming in through the window just barely lit the left side of the thing.

“What?” she wondered, as though she wasn’t aware of the wooden work of art.

“The carving,” Jeffrey said.

She turned her head to where he was looking. “Oh. The mask.”

“So it is a mask…” he said more to himself than to her.

“You don’t know?” she questioned.

“Don’t know what?”

“About the masks. That’s why you came, no?”

“No,” he answered.

“So you just came for the cheese?” she quipped.

“I came for a friend.”

She smiled again. “A lot of tourists collect these masks.”

“What’s it for?” He took another sip of his beer, then got up to take a closer look.

“Harder-Potschete,” she explained, “the traditional celebration to bring in New Year and a prosperous spring.”

“Harder-Potschete?” he echoed. “What’s the mask got to do with it?”

“In old times many believed evil spirits came down from the mountains. They blamed everything bad that happened on the spirits: cows dying, deadly avalanches, bad harvest…It was all the spirits’ fault. Locals wore the masks to usher in a good spring and free the town of evil by scaring all the spirits back up the mountains. As long as the spirits stayed up there in the snow and everyone else stayed down here, everything would be all right. The tradition continues today.”

“Makes sense,” Jeffrey muttered. The mask certainly was ugly. It nearly sent a chill up his spine. Carved from a solid piece of pine dark with age, its face was twisted and gnarled, making it look something like a troll or a witch with empty pits in place of eyes, and with hair and teeth that looked far too real.

“May I touch it?” he asked.

She took the mask off the wall in response. “The hair is from a goat. The teeth are from a calf,” she said.

“It’s fantastic,” he muttered. His fingertips bounced along the grain. He could feel where the artist’s chisel had dug the deepest to create the gaunt cheeks beneath jutting cheekbones. “Is it expensive?”

“This one is,” she said, placing the mask back upon the wall. “And it’s not for sale. It protects this place.”

“I didn’t mean…” Jeffrey started. He trailed off when the woman turned toward the kitchen. He really didn’t have any intention of trying to buy the mask. He could hardly afford his trip as it was.

“House plate,” she said, setting a steaming platter before Jeffrey upon her return.

“Smells delicious. What is it?”

“Sausage and potato,” she said as though it should have been obvious, which, for the most part, it was. “You said you came for a friend?”

“Yes.”

“So where is your friend?”

“I haven’t met her yet,” he confessed as he cut into the sausage. “Tomorrow.”

“She is local?”

“Yes. Her name is Maria….This is delicious.”

“Maria,” she murmured. “That’s my name too.”

#

Despite his excitement, Jeffrey slept soundly. The cold breeze coming in through his open balcony doors made for perfect sleeping conditions. Waking up to a mountain view was something he could get used to. With his arms wrapped around his chest, Jeffrey stepped out onto the balcony and peered up at the Alps. From what he could see, they looked as cold and steely gray as they had the day before. Heavy clouds obscured the uppermost peaks. Cloudy or not, his day wouldn’t be ruined because somewhere among those mountains his Maria was waiting for him.

After a shower and a shave, Jeffrey took the train to Lucerne where he walked the short distance from the railway station to the shore of Lake Lucerne. There were more people – tourists – in the city than in the tiny town that surrounded his hotel, which meant there were more souvenir shops and kiosks as well. Jeffrey saw a number of masks that looked like the one he saw in the restaurant the night before only they weren’t quite as large or carefully crafted. The chatty tourists gawked at the masks; they had a way of stealing some of the looming mountains’ majesty, but as loud and obnoxious as they were, they couldn’t completely strip the scenery of its splendor.

Jeffrey bought a sandwich from a street-side vendor and nibbled it alone along the shoreline as he waited for the ship that would take him across the lake to the base of Mount Pilatus. There were swans in the water and they gathered around him in hopes of a handout. Too nervous to eat, he threw them pieces of bread. His stomach was a mess of wriggling and writhing nerves that made it impossible for him to stand still. Over and over, he thought about what he would say when he saw her, what he would do. More frightening than that was thinking about what she might say and what she might do when she saw him.

The ship pulled into port two minutes earlier than expected and pulled away one minute later than the ticket stub said it would. Jeffrey opted to sit out on the deck even though the weather was cool and cold drops of water kept splashing him from over the railing. He leaned over the side to watch the water. More than that, he watched the reflection of the mountain in the water, wondering if Maria was already waiting for him.

The crossing of the lake passed slowly, but the reflection of the mountain got bigger, and eventually it was so big that the ship was practically on top of it. It wouldn’t be long now.

The ship let him off in the town of Alpnachstad where the world’s steepest cog-wheel railway waited to escort him up the side of the mountain. The railway sat at a forty-six percent gradient, which didn’t sound all that impressive to Jeffrey until he actually got inside one of the railway cars.

“It’s cloudy at the summit,” the conductor said to Jeffrey. “Visibility’s low. You won’t see much up there today.”

“That’s okay,” Jeffrey said, settling in his seat. The view wasn’t what he was looking forward to seeing.

With a creaky groan, the cog-wheel train began its clunky ascent, seeming to strain up the steep slope. For a few minutes there, despite his anticipation, Jeffrey was able to think of things other than Maria as he spotted sublime fields at awkward angles along the lower region of the mountain, which didn’t deter the brown and white cows grazing upon them. Large bells hanging around the cows’ necks created a symphony of pitches ranging from tinkling tolls to clanging knells. Jeffrey shut his eyes to listen until the gentle peals and the quiet mooing faded away on the mountain beneath him. When he opened his eyes again, all the grass was gone, replaced by the rugged gray of irregular rock formations dusted with snow. All thoughts turned back to Maria.

In her final letter to him, Maria had written that she’d be wearing edelweiss in her hair. He was to wear a flag like one of the three hanging beyond his balcony pinned to his lapel so that she’d know it was him. In the three years that they’d been writing, they never once exchanged a photograph. Maria hadn’t wanted to. She liked the idea of creating him in her head. She was convinced that when they finally met face to face they’d be exactly what each other envisioned because they were meant to be. The edelweiss and the pin were just a backup plan in case their imaginings were a little off.

Jeffrey reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the pin he’d purchased at a souvenir stand inside the train station. It was red with a white cross in the center. Affixing it to his lapel, he felt his heart skip a beat as though he’d pricked himself although the pin never penetrated the fabric of his collared shirt. For a split second his arms broke out with gooseflesh. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was an odd reaction; not one that he’d ever had from being excited before. It passed almost as soon as it started, leaving Jeffrey to shrug it off without trying to analyze what it could possibly mean.

The air grew increasingly colder the higher the cog-wheel car climbed, but it definitely wasn’t the cold that had made Jeffrey bristle. He noticed he could now see his breath spreading before him in large white plumes. He hoped Maria had brought a jacket to keep herself warm.

“Pilatus-kulm,” the conductor announced as the car came to a sudden stop at the top of the alp.

Jeffrey got out and, casting a glance backward, realized just how steep the railway was. It was a wonder the car didn’t slide backward down the mountain. Even in its stationary state it seemed to be struggling. But that really didn’t matter now. Maria was close. Although he’d never met her in person – never felt her physical presence – he felt her now almost the same way he felt the bitter mist whirling around him.

The conductor was right: there wasn’t much to see atop Mount Pilatus other than the swirling white and gray of the thick clouds obscuring what, according to pictures posted all around, would have been the most marvelous view of the Alps had the sun been out and shining and the clouds been nothing more than fluffy wisps. In some spots, when Jeffrey squinted really hard, he could see the mountaintops through the clouds, but only their silhouettes and never for more than a few seconds.

With the visibility the way it was, the tourists were at a minimum. Still, an old fellow wearing a traditional cap standing near one of the railings overlooking the imperceptible mountain, had his lips pressed to the mouthpiece of a very long, wooden alpenhorn that extended at least ten feet in front of him, its base resting against the ground. Drawn out notes, sounding warm and somewhat like a bugle, floated on the thin air past the curved opening of the instrument. Hand painted along the outer rim were delicate flowers much like the ones Jeffrey expected to find in Maria’s hair.

He walked past the man and his horn, who hadn’t a crowd or even a jar for collecting tips, straight into the whiteness ahead. The misty fog was so thick – thicker than smoke or the exhaust that choked the streets back home – that Jeffrey could barely see six feet in front of him. As curious as it was to him, he couldn’t help but be tickled by the thought that he was actually walking within a cloud even if it would make his meeting with Maria harder to manage.

Somewhere in the distance, harshly clashing with the soothing sounds coming from the alpenhorn, came the raucous cries of what sounded like crows. The sound took Jeffrey aback. Nowhere below had he seen a crow. Their coarse caws wouldn’t have mixed with the lazy mooing of the cows. But following the caws, Jeffrey found the source of the sound. Sitting on one of the railings, jet black against the overwhelming white of the mist with water droplets glistening against their glossy feathers, were four blackbirds with bright yellow beaks and orange feet. Jeffrey didn’t have very much time to observe the birds because standing next to them was a woman with flowers in her hair.

“Maria,” he gasped.

“My Jeffrey,” she said.

Barely a heartbeat passed before they were in each other’s arms. Jeffrey held her so tight and so close that he thought his arms might go right through her.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew it was you without seeing the pin. Did you know it was me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I knew. I saw the flowers, but I knew.” She was almost exactly how he imagined her, maybe a little less rosy in the cheeks, but everything else was the same.

“Welcome to Switzerland,” she said when the embrace finally broke, although they held onto each other’s hands for fear that letting go might mean losing each other within the mist. “How was your trip?”

“Couldn’t have been better. It’s lovely here.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Maria said and then frowned. “If only you could see.” She motioned toward the space beyond the railing where a wall of white was all there was to witness.

“You’re all I wanted to see,” he assured her, dipping his hand into one of his pockets. “I brought this for you.” Dangling from his fingertips was a gold locket at the end of a gold chain. He opened the locket to show her that he’d already put his picture inside.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, bowing her head so that he could affix the chain around her neck.

“You really like it?”

“I really do.”

They fell into each other’s arms once again. This time Maria’s lips grazed his cheek. The kiss made him tingle all over inside.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go down the mountain.”

“But you just got here,” she objected. “Stay.” She dragged him to the railing, putting herself between him and the four birds perched there; they didn’t ruffle in the least at her presence.

“Why are they here?” he asked.

“This is their home,” she answered simply. She put her head against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“I feared this day would never come,” he admitted. She agreed. For the better part of the next hour they told each other all the things they’d always wanted to say in person. There wasn’t a moment of tension, no awkward pauses, not a hint of doubt that they were meant to be.

“I’m hungry. You must be too. Let’s go and find something to eat,” Jeffrey said once they’d made every declaration there was to make.

“No,” she said. “Let’s wait.”

“What for?”

She motioned to the mist once more. “For the sky to clear.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere,” he said, speaking of the mist.
“They’re,” she said in return.

“They’re?” Jeffrey questioned.

“It doesn’t look like they’re going anywhere,” she clarified.

“What are you talking about?”

“The spirits,” she said. “It’s more than mist we’re looking at.”

Jeffrey stared off at the swirling mist. With little imagination he could see phantoms in the fog. “Evil spirits,” he said, remembering what Maria at the restaurant had told him about the purpose of the carved mask the night before.

“Not all of them are evil,” she replied.

Jeffrey chuckled. It was all he could do to fight the chill creeping along his spine for the second time that morning. “I’m cold,” he said. “And hungry. Come now, you can show me around town.”

He pulled her away from the railing and through the wall of white to where there were cable cars descending the mountain. They looked all the more dreadful than the cog-wheel train since they were just hanging there by a cable that looked no thicker than a laundry line. But the cog-wheel was just for coming up, and the cable cars were for going down.

“Wait,” Maria said, but by then Jeffrey had already climbed inside the waiting gondola. “Can we stay just a little longer?”

He stretched out an arm to assist her, answering her question without saying a word. There was nothing she could do to make him stay. Her only choice was to get inside. Reluctantly, she did.

The gondola was small, capable of holding no more than four people. Jeffrey couldn’t stand inside without hunching over. He sat on one of the benches and Maria nuzzled close beside him. As the cable car left the boarding station, leaving behind solid ground as it did, Jeffrey felt his stomach flutter. The gondola glided into the cloud, and within seconds Jeffrey couldn’t see the mountain below him or the boarding station behind him. It was just the ashen atmosphere in all directions outside the gondola windows, a few visible feet of the cable car cable overhead and Maria beside him.

He ran his fingers over the flowers braided in Maria’s hair then caressed her cheek with a few furled fingers. She was shuddering.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she whispered, forcing a smile.

“You seem nervous,” he said.

“I’m cold.”

And it was true. Her cheek was as chilly as the icy outside air. “You’re damp too,” he said. “Take my jacket.”

Jeffrey squirmed to free himself from his jacket and draped it over Maria’s shoulders. She smiled at him again, a bit more genuinely this time, and burrowed into the deepest part of his chest.

“Maria -?” he started, but silenced as the gondola came to a sudden stop. “What’s happening?” he wondered.

“Why are we stopped?” she asked, lifting her cheek from his chest.

“I don’t know,” Jeffrey grumbled. He turned every which way in his seat, but all he could see was white through the windows. “I’m sure everything is all right. We ought to be moving in no time at all.”

But other than gently swaying side to side on the cable, the gondola didn’t move any farther down the mountain.

“We’re still pretty close to the top,” Jeffrey said. “Maybe they’ll hear us up there.” He slid open the pane of the gondola’s upper window, letting a whirling wisp of the white mist inside, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello!” he hollered. “We’re stuck! Can anybody hear me?”

He waited, his ear searching for something—anything—but there was only silence.

“At least we’re together,” Maria said, her voice betraying a slight quaver. She eased him back in the seat and buried her face in his chest once again. “We’ll just have to wait.”

He sighed, letting all the tension out that had built up inside. After all, there were worse things than hanging in isolation with the one he loved. He let his hand play up and down her back.

Maria closed her eyes, allowing her sightless senses to take Jeffrey in all the way. While her imagination could create his image so perfectly in her mind, it couldn’t create his touch, his scent, his essence.

Jeffrey let his body slump against hers. Together in the gondola they were almost as one. “Maria?” he quietly asked after some time, thinking that she might have fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“Why didn’t you write for all those weeks? I thought something might have happened to you.”

“I wanted to,” was all she said. She lifted her head and kissed him on the mouth. The kiss was long and passionate, and yet Jeffrey felt it ended all too soon. He had to pull away, though, when he saw something strange outside the gondola. And it was something that gave him such a fright that he banged the back of his head against the glass behind him in a futile attempt to recoil backward.

“What is it?” Maria gasped.

“There,” Jeffrey said, pointing at nothing more than mist. “There was something there…something terrible.”

“Shh,” she shushed, reaching for his face. “It’s all right.”

“There it is again!” he screeched, throwing himself backward against the gondola harder than before, causing it to rock fiercely on the cable. “Look and see!”

But Maria didn’t look. Her trembling fingertips tapped over his face, longing to hold onto him forever. In his eyes she saw the horror of what was haunting him. The evil spirits had manifested themselves as blood-hungry monstrosities, miasmal in appearance and so gluttonous that they snuck down from the slopes on days when the mountains belonged to the mist. Days when the locals kept an extra careful eye on their young, their livestock and their yield.

“You mustn’t look anymore,” Maria said. She eased his eyelids closed and pulled his head against her breast. “You mustn’t look…”

#

Jeffrey awoke with a start. His back was aching and there was a crick in his neck. He didn’t remember being tired or feeling himself slip away, but somehow he’d fallen into a deep sleep inside the gondola. Aside from the pain in his back and the pinch in his neck, he immediately noticed that the clouds had cleared. In the distance he could see the ant-sized village at the base of the mountain.

“Maria,” he said, turning his attention her way to wake her with a smile. “Maria?”

She wasn’t there.

He twisted and turned, easily inspecting every inch of the gondola, still dangling at a standstill high above the mountain, in search of her. All that he found was his jacket in a heap and her locket on the seat.

Jeffrey’s heart sank. He unlatched the gondola’s door and hung his head over the side, searching for a sign of his lost love. She was nowhere in sight, and yet, just like when he first stepped foot atop the mountain, he felt her all around him, as though she was still clinging to his chest.

He panicked, he reeled. For a moment he considered jumping.

“Maria!” he screamed just as the gondola kicked into gear and started down the mountain again. “Mariiiaaa!”

#

The next night found Jeffrey at the same restaurant near his hotel.

“Did you find your friend?” asked Maria the waitress, when he sat down,

Jeffrey nodded and twitched uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t really interested in food, but he wasn’t interested in being alone either. Having bumped up his flight, he only had twelve hours left in Maria’s homeland until the depressing journey returned him home with not much more than what he’d started with. Resting in the palm of his hand was the gold chain attached to the locket.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It was for her,” he said.

“Where is she now? Your Maria?”

Jeffrey let out a long sigh that sounded like a sob. “She couldn’t come down the mountain,” he said. His angry eyes glared at the unsightly mask on the wall. “It’s not just the evil spirits they keep away.”

Maria paused. She stood silently for a while then walked to the mask to peer into its empty eyes. “Or maybe she’s trapped,” she finally said. “Maybe the good spirits are all the evil spirits are able to hold on to.”

“Maybe,” Jeffrey said. “I guess she tried to get away…Do you want this?” he asked, offering her the locket with his picture inside.

“No,” she said.

“I guess she couldn’t keep it,” he muttered. In some weird way he could still feel her, though; stuck up there, scared, damp, cold and loving him as much as he still loved her. He opened the locket. It was only his face that looked back at him. His stomach turned at the realization that his imagination would forever have to fill in the rest. He could only hope that he would forever haunt her as much as she would haunt him.