Part 17 (2/2)

In the ground. That's where I was. I buried the key, too.

What key?

To your apartment.

Our apartment.

He put his hands on the table.

Lovers pulled up each other's underwear, b.u.t.toned each other's s.h.i.+rts, and dressed and dressed and dressed.

I told him, Say it.

When I saw Anna for the last time.

Say it.

When we.

Say it!

He put his hands on his knees.

I wanted to hit him.

I wanted to hold him.

I wanted to shout myself into his ear.

I asked, So what happens now?

I don't know.

Do you want to go home?

He flipped back to, I can't.

Then you'll go away?

He pointed at, I can't.

Then we are out of options.

We sat there.

Things were happening around us, but nothing was happening between us.

Above us, the screens said which flights were landing and which were taking off.

Madrid departing.

Rio arriving.

Stockholm departing.

Paris departing.

Milan arriving.

Everyone was coming or going.

People around the world were moving from one place to another.

No one was staying.

I said, What if we stay?

Stay?

Here. What if we stay here at the airport?

He wrote, Is that another joke?

I shook my head no.

How could we stay here?

I told him, There are pay phones, so I could call Oskar and let him know I'm OK. And there are paper stores where you could buy daybooks and pens. There are places to eat. And money machines. And bathrooms. Even televisions.

Not coming or going.

Not something or nothing.

Not yes or no.

My dream went all the way back to the beginning.

The rain rose into the clouds, and the animals descended the ramp.

Two by two.

Two giraffes.

Two spiders.

Two goats.

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