We get colors back home, but not like this. Blues that are blue and green and gray and purple all at the same time. Red and oranges the color of kids’ play-doh. Everywhere I look, it’s excess but she’s an anchor. I just want to hold on. She’s a new color, too, darker than before but still pale. Her hair’s got red in it and I wonder if that’s from this sun or if she done something to it.
We walk down this big boardwalk to the shore. There’s a Ferris wheel and a fair number of beggars. She shakes her head but I stop for my billfold. There a lot of them close together here but I pass out dollars until I’m out of ones and then we move on. They call behind us, “Thank you. Cowboy, huh? Thank you.”
I can’t be this close to her and not so I reach down and grip her hand. That blue out there is burning now with the sunset. I think I may go up in flames too. “I know you needed time but I didn’t know what to do when you didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.” I’m trying to tell her, and she’s done closing her eyes and sighing at me.
Well, how can I not? She’s right up there with the Redeemer and she’s so close to me, her fingers in mine, Alpha and Omega, my beginning and my end. Lord, God, but she may end me yet.