This Thing Between Us

by Gus Moreno

The first couple times people told me you had visited them and told them you found peace, I smiled and said something about how reassuring that was, but inside I was ripping the wallpaper off my skull.

I kept trying to will you into existence. Squeeze my eyes shut and there you would be. Swing myself around and you would run into my arms.

I could become the crazy dog man of these parts. Have eight, maybe twelve dogs that crowded around me wherever I went, a parade of tails and floppy ears whenever I opened the back door. Then maybe I’d take up writing. Out in the middle of nowhere, grizzled, I could be one of those serious writers who used ten different words for grass. I would let my hair grow, write, chop the wood, feed the dogs. The days would fill themselves, really.