11/46
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Well Water
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It, an expansive red sandstone canyon, plates moving in slow motion, shifting, pushing up from the ground – monuments tested, tried and true. She, standing atop a towering boulder stack, arms outstretched, eyes closed, breath slowing, tucked from sight, surely not to be found for a couple days.
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“Smoke?”
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Startled by the voice, she almost opened up.
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“I have a flight to catch.”
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“A puff first?” Cam’el asked.
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“Hah. I’m about to soar among the clouds and you want me to whiz at tree level.”
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“You’re about to take a long one-way – can I talk you into a short round trip?”
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She stepped closer to the edge.
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“Those marks?”
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His question transported. Worlds. Colors. Depths. Which marks was he referring to – the ones in her or the ones on her? She had received so many: ones after her husband cheated, ones after her boyfriend got bored, ones her handler left as a special signature; between San Salvador and D Street. She had lost track.
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“Jackie, come with me. There are people who will miss you very much if you do this.”
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“Not the one I want to miss me.”
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“Take my word for it, you can’t control that. What you can control is loving the one who misses you most?”
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“Who is that?”
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“You.”
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Jackie closed her eyes again. They were both silent for a very long time.
