The Passenger

Last night I dreamt of seeing you in a non-descript airport. For some reason I told the bartender your name was Liam (what an odd little lie) as I hopped onto a skateboard and clumsily made my way through the hardwood terminal. You were so old; almost unidentifiable except for those scuffed black frames permanently perched upon your nose.

I watched you carry a stretcher on your back, set it down with your signature gentle touch, and talk to two uniformed policemen. I couldn't hear what you were saying, but I could tell you were cautiously excited about meeting your pregnant wife. I wondered why she was on a plane and why you were in the airport?

When you finally saw me and my skateboard, you smiled approvingly and waved. My heart raced; spurred on by Regret and Hope's spontaneous tug-of-war. I slowly lost you in the crowd as I realized I'd never paid for my beer.