100 Proof

She stepped on the grass as if she was apologizing for her very weight, as if the green blades might cry out beneath her.

“It’s OK that you’re here,” he said, leading her to the back of the yard. “You’re not disturbing anything at all.”

“You clearly need to shoot more guns,” he said. “It would make you that much more interesting.”

She didn’t know about that, but she liked the thought of the weight of the steel in her hand. She traced his temple with a finger, considered the eggshell nature of the skull, how porous skin, how suddenly relationships can change when one person holds all the power.

She let the globe rest under her palm, dreaming of where she might go if given the opportunity. Once, she dreamt of Spain. Once, he said he’d take her there.

It’s not that great there anyway, said her friend as they packed her things. You’ll find new destinations now.

Though she tried to keep away, she kept waking in the night right next to him, her leg against his. This betrayal angered her, and some nights, kept her from sleep entirely. In the morning, she rolled away gently, hoping to slip from the bed before he woke. He never had really known how to touch her, anyway. She was one train whistle away from escape.

The way she stood, it looked as if she sang the moon. Thoughtful light rose from her lips, and for a moment, it was as if she was solely responsible for the coolly cast shadows of the trees. He held his breath, wondering if he could hold all of it together. But moons rise and girls close their mouths, then run through the woods, spilling laughter as they go.

They crossed the tracks in the fog, picking their way through rails and ties, one ear always cocked for the muffled, inevitable howl of an oncoming train. He left a penny there on the far rail, and the next day, they returned to find it, smooth and flat as if ironed, resting in the gravel of the embankment.

He pressed the penny into her palm, where it burned as if it still held the heat of friction and compression. He kissed her then, and her lips had never felt so lucky.

The travelers abound–not the ones who plan vacations to far away places, but the ones who are always plotting an escape route like a needle to a vein. The travelers break hearts by shutting them out of duffle bags and backpacks. They should bear a warning sticker: Keep Away or Proceed At Your Own Risk or Shallow: Diving Prohibited.

She spent a lifetime chasing travelers, convincing herself of safety in the middle of their dissatisfied maelstrom. It took years to learn the ones to seek were those who kept close to home, traveling the landscape of the heart.