Suitcase Nuke

And above, the flat-screen meant to keep me unaware of the physical abuse being dealt my joints and tendons played bright, flashy, gaudy music videos from the same decade. The overhead music I could actually hear emigrated from some European nation - likely Norway or Germany. It was a techno beat that at times synchronized with my footfalls, and others with the dancers on screen. But never both. A faint, persistent sense of discord lurked inside. As well it should: running is not meant to be graceful. Or even pleasant. Only necessary.

As sweet stung my eyes, the built-in fan failing to keep pace, my mind was lost in some vacant space distancing itself from the awkward minutes remaining. But slowly it returned, or perhaps drifted even further. Of which is the case, i can't be sure.

She stepped surprising, but almost expectedly in front of me. Guiding my path rather than blocking it. She looked at me questioningly. A smirk on her alabaster face belied a mischievousness to her effortless presence.

I couldn't - wouldn't - dare assume she was beckoning me. I could only - would only - hope it was so. Her cerulean dress spun around her as she twirled, setting her long hair into a thousand sparks beneath the sun.

She sat down abruptly in front of the grandfatherly oak. Her flowing dress had become denim jeans as she rested against the coded bark, still smiling, still waiting. A soft but stern breeze rolled across the open meadow, pressing scents and sounds sharply through me. The rattle of leaves, hum of distant traffic, mellow of cut fields assuring me the world was continuing on even as time stood suspended here.

I laid my head back against the tree, exhaling forcefully as all my thoughts and burdens were caught away in the summer sky. She leaned close, my ear warming as her nose and breath touched for a moment. The words she spoke are lost, but not their soothing nature.

An infinite moment just before my eyes closed and my mind slept, I could begin to feel it again. Sharp splinters driving into my calves. And she was whisked away, the tree re-forming into the belligerent music videos. The meadow was now planted with ellipticals, and weight weights and stationary bikes. The aroma of grass replaced by sweat and recycled air. The persistent thumping of electronic beats and the clanging of free weights falling back into their place.

I walked uncomfortably along the road: dusty, crowded. Overhead an F16 thundered as it banked hard left while climbing out of reach. Worn brakes squealed as a driver made a last-second stop for a crossing pedestrian. The sun settled just short of the desert horizon. I was still at war. But I was smiling.