by Eric Nixon
I lay in bed, staring at the patterns the streetlight made on the ceiling as it shined through the tops of the curtains. It sort of looked like a lake, lit by the rising sun, with the darkened mountains looming behind. Then again, if the sun was rising, it would light up the mountains first, since they’re taller than the lake is. Whatever. That’s what it looked like and it makes sense to me. Every night since the accident, I’ve looked up at that light pattern and thought about how nice it would be to bring June to that scene...just the two of us sitting on the back porch of a log cabin at a picturesque lake at the foot of scenic mountains, maybe up in New Hampshire, where the comforting shade of the pine trees, combined with the cool breeze, constantly supplying spritzy-fresh piney blasts of a million, newly-opened, rear-view-mirror-dangling air fresheners. Just amazing. And, after tomorrow, this will be our reality. Well, our reality when we go away for a weekend on a mini-vacation.
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