By Jason Jackson
You wake from the dream, throw off the covers.
She turns over. “What you doing?”
You’ve already found the vinyl.
She’s sitting up. “It’s midnight, Jay.” But the needle’s down, the volume’s up. That first chord, those words you’ve known for twenty-five years.
She’s out of bed now. You’re smiling, singing the words. She kicks the stereo and it dies.
“Rachel.”
She’s climbing back into bed. “What?”
“I just needed to…”
“It’s fucking midnight.”
You get into bed, switch off the lamp. In your dream you were dancing with her. You’re almost asleep when she says, “What was the song, anyway?
Oh man. This strikes me at so many different levels. I feel that too often in life I am the wife in this story – so embroiled in day to day stresses of life that I miss the “magic” that is all around us. It left me wondering what special moment would have been built between them if she’d just “go with the flow” until the magic grabbed her, too. Well done.