A.G.E's Joint

  The siren seemed distant. An older Mercedes with the plate KBL 1765 was in front of us.  "Hey, Sweetie. I'm going to lose this Charzard." She said with a grin.  Swerving to the right, the tires on the Pontiac started squealing on the set pavement. She was serious about getting away. A quick flash. The motorcycle smacked the driver's side with a loud thump. The car the windshield cracked and grass filled my mouth. Everything was quiet. I turned my head towards her. Blood was pouring down her face.  "Are you mine? The sound was garbled and choked. It wasn't clear whether it came from me or her.  "Maybe." Came the reply. "It's all a whispered dream, anyway." Two men came up to the driver's side window. Everything went black. 

Steam whistled brightly from the tea pot next to the window. Just another fine day at home. A wrinkled hand slips over the handle, while it's partner turns off the gas.  Tea and Scones gets made at 3:00pm. The tin is fetched from the ancient F&M hamper someone had given to them at the hospital. No one knew who had left it, but it came home with her. It was a talisman to the time of no wheelchair. Another iteration in the circular dance. Unknowing eyes stare as the ball drops in the pot. The crockery creamer with a carrot motif sits on the tray unused.  Lips more aware than their owner open as the spoon approaches. Her eyes soften and smile while his dart almost imperceptibly.  Nothing is tracked or timed in this waltz. Sip and nibble interrupted by dabs from the napkin. His lips curl into a half smile as she cleans up the dishes. Goodbyes said, he nods and fades away.  __________________________________________________________________________________...