Two Days in the Country
Years before, Tabitha had lost a whole weekend in Ezekiel’s arms, a secret, summer weekend she still remembered with fondness and regret. There was no future with Ezekiel, though, him and his wild laughter and his stupid jokes and his stupid hat. Jason was predictable and a little boring at times, but she never had to worry about him forgetting to put pants on before leaving the house.
Despite herself, despite shoving her memories of that forbidden love into a cold, hard lump in her chest, Tabitha still dreamed that Ezekiel would show up at her front door, astride his rumbly John Deere combine, a bit of yellowed straw hanging out of the corner of his mouth–and in the dream, he’d be totally quiet so he seemed smart and mysterious, and not obsessed with fart jokes and just stupid things in general, like he was in real life. He’d gesture to her to get into the cab with him, and she would climb aboard the shaking, rattling vehicle without thinking, because it was a dream, and you always do stupid things in dreams. There would be a sunset involved, and music, and then she’d wake up, her heart heavy with guilt and regret.
Even after she learned that Ezekiel had fallen in love with a girl closer to his own age, a sweet country girl who didn’t have a husband weighing her heart down like a barnacle-encrusted anchor, Tabitha still dreamed that he might show up on her porch and silently whisk her away. The dreams haunted her as she stared out the window of her kitchen into the snow-filled back yard, continued even after the wedding announcement and invitation showed up in the mail, and even past the birth announcements that came one right after another. She wondered if Ezekiel ever thought of her, if his wife ever stomped around the house with a worried look on her face as if perpetually looking for something lost, the way Tabitha’s husband did.
Flight of the dragonfly 