—CONTENTS MAY HAVE SHIFTED

 

                                                      Wallet

         In my cell phone the woman’s voice is gritty and shifting, a gold miner’s pan, uncertain now about this, her offer to meet me, perhaps dredging up horror movie scares or past ill-fated meetings, but she names a 7/11 in Darien, not far from where I filled the tank and bought a six pack and made a promise to myself that this would be it, no more, even if I was alone with no one to confer.

         I get out of the car sensing an ambush, I’m that disoriented already, from the beer or glare or panic at being late, a flat tire hissing in my head, a trapped bee there.  The sun is scalding, sun is angry, sun is a roiling, boiling mirror.  I get chills and go dizzy as sweat drops spider-crawl to dank places, my pits and groin, the crack of my ass.

         Sign of something in her eyes, something I’ve seen others wearing—fear.

She drops my wallet and back-peddles away.

         I hold it in my hands.  I realize how light it is.  I hear cars on the freeway, trees taking on the wind, gargled music, laughter, a child’s scream.  I close my eyes and let the sun brand me.