her dream

On gusty, brittle nights like these, the wind slapped you in the face no matter which way you turned, which she knew was impossible, but true, nonetheless. She checked her watch – almost midnight. The last train was due in 12 minutes. She’d make it if she hurried. She was running down McAdam – well, not really running, but hurrying, quickly. She was almost to the train station when she stopped. She’d heard someone call her name. Or at least she thought she had. The intersection – she was at McAdam and Purifoy – was deserted. Neon signs lit each corner. Two flashed; two were steady. She heard it, again. She looked all about – nothing. No one. She had two minutes to spare, so she stood perfectly still and listened. The wind blew, then whistled. The neon sign closest to her – McCready’s Deli -- clicked and snapped. She held her breath. Nothing. She must’ve been hearing things. She crossed Purifoy in a slow walk, then began jogging as she reached the other side. She made the train with only seconds to spare. That night, she dreamed she’d seen her father, downtown, in a sidestreet alley. He’d died three years earlier. She still missed him. Terribly.