TIKOLGIRL

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Her last smile to me wasn’t a sunset. It was an eclipse, the last eclipse, noon dying away to darkness where there would be no dawn. My Uber driver looked like a deflating airbag and sounded like talk radio on repeat. The old man was bent into a capital C, his head leaning so far forward that his beard nearly touched his knobby knees. The painting was a field of flowers, blues and yellows atop deep green stems that seemed to call the viewer in to play. My dog’s fur felt like silk against my skin and her black coloring shone, absorbing the sunlight and reflecting it back like a pure, dark mirror. The sunset filled the sky with a deep red flame, setting the clouds ablaze. The waves rolled along the shore in a graceful, gentle rhythm, as if dancing with the land. Winter hit like a welterweight that year, a jabbing cold you thought you could stand until the wind rose up and dropped you to the canvas.