Lucky

I remember stars. I remember the world cracking open. I remember voices. “Come here . . . Did you see that? . . . Wake up . . .”

“You’re very lucky,” the doctor had said. Conscious, but still heavily medicated, I had struggled to comprehend why I felt like a fly in a spiderweb. Later I would understand about the hospital, the ambulance, and the collision. And while the doctors pieced me together, I tried to piece together my memories.

I remember a broken heel. I remember twisting, crunching, crashing, rending. I remember a tinkling rain of falling glass.

“The EMT’s said they found you alone on the sidewalk. Do you have any idea how you got there? Do you have any idea who might have placed the 911 call? Do you have any idea what happened?”

I remember a hand reaching out. I remember twisting shadows, glowing red eyes, claws, fangs, laughter. I remember a celestial light, trumpets sounding in the night, sheltering beneath wings.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Lucky . . .

“Hey beautiful, where you going? Stick around—this is your lucky night. What, you don’t want to talk to me? Come here, bitch. I said, come here.”

I try not to remember.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Rain

Don’t think I haven’t been faithful or even happy.  Because I have.  All I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been able to love my wife with my whole heart.

When I was eighteen, I went out into a field during the rain.  I danced, splashing in the mud.  There was a girl walking through the tall grass and singing a sad, slow song.  And she kissed me once before going on her way.  When the rain was gone, so was she.

I loved her.

But I never saw her again.  A month later I met the woman who would be my wife.  She came like a ray of sunshine and illuminated all of the dark recesses of my heart.  It was in her that I first knew myself, and her warmth helped me accept all of the wild shadows I had never realized were inside of me.  She was comfort and stability.

We were happy.  We have always been happy together.

But whenever it rains, I remember that kiss beneath the clouds.  I remember the taste and rhythm of untamed passion that fell into my life.  And for a moment, my wife does not have all my love.

     *     *     *

Story by Gregory M. Fox
from A Breath of Fiction’s archives
originally published November 4, 2010