his wife and he and i stood in a kitchen on a well worn black and white linoleum floor. the counter she leaned against was bare.

he stood between us but closer to her as he spoke.

how are you doing, he asked.

i’m almost over it, she whispered softly. it was clear it just wasn’t as important anymore despite the lingering sadness in her voice. she didn’t raise her eyes to look at him.

he peered at her intensely from under the brim of his hat before speaking, Good. I knew you could.

she vanished from the room.

he turned and took a step towards me

but you, I worry about you, he said as he pushed his cap back and scratched his head in that all too familiar gesture of having something to say but taking a minute to sort things out before speaking.

slightly puzzled as to why he would worry and confused at what was happening because it just couldn’t be as real as it felt; he vanished and i awoke unsure of where i was, where i had been, who traveled where to see who, and why.

all i know for certain is we visited last night…