Tuco considered this last call from Arlu. She’d sounded fine; alive, busy flying through life like a bat out of hell. Is this the answer, he pondered. To fill the time of daylight and dark with activity, the small increments of ticking silenced by the swooshing, swooshing of wings in steady flight. He feared being only a parentheses in the swift sweep of her life. And yet there are steps to be taken, a journey into solitude or desert or honky-tonk bars, a stepping into a life. Any life now that the time of mirrors is here. The ghost of desire burns old letters, turns the guest room into a closet. This is no time for her to be kind, to be gracious as Arlu moves into her life. Tuco holds the dream, considers it’s weight, considers his choices now. |
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RD Savage
08/10/96 © 1996 |