When he comes back Melissa has changed into a pair of his jeans and gone to the bathroom to repair her hair. Her face has lost the black smear of eyeliner and tears, and she looks cheerful and awake now. She looks up at him amused, her Pacific blue eyes even more shocking now, “I hope you don’t mind. I really don’t want to walk home in a dress.”

“No sweat.”

“You know your room is much more… interesting in the daylight.”

Travis peers over his shoulder. “The wall?”

She walks down the length of the mural, “This is impressive.”

Travis is still standing with a plate of eggs and a glass of orange juice, “You have to split it with me.”

She hesitates and then steps over to him and looks at the plate. “You’re very sweet.” Then she says, “But I’m not hungry.”

Travis set the glass down, picks his fork up, cuts a bite and holds it out to her. He feels like he’s offering food to a wild animal in a strange place, clearly unsure of the situation now that it’s morning. She takes the fork out of his hand and eats the bite. After chewing for a moment, self-consciously, she swallows and remarks, “Not bad.” Then she takes the plate out of his hands and sets it on the dresser. Turning to him, she leads him to the bed and half pushes, half tackles him on to it. They lay together for a while. She kisses him, lightly, on the lips, and settles back on her pillow and says, “This is a nice t-shirt.”

“I’m glad you like it. That’s all I got.”

Wrinkling her nose, Melissa asks, “You mean you only own one t-shirt?”

“No, no, no. I meant I don’t own any other kinds of shirts. Sorry.”

“Oh.”

Travis looks back to his closet. “I don’t have much use for anything but t-shirts, I guess.”

She wraps her arms under him, and her embrace is hot. After a moment of laying still, she rubs his head and says, “You’re cuddly.”

“Thanks.” Travis shuts his eyes and lapses into a thoughtless state after a few minutes—he smiles when he thinks cosmoblatarific meditation. He wants to just absorb the feeling of being held and hang onto it because he can tell it’s passing. She needs time and space to be alone with what she had finally gotten out last night.

He does not notice as he drifts off into sleep. His dreams are waking ones, vivid. All the colors in the dream are saturated and stark, grainy shades of nothing but yellows and browns. There is a field and shapes lean at odd angles; fence posts. The feeling of his own feet on the ground is imperceptible. He can here a concert playing faintly in the distance. But as soon as he begins to try to go to it, to grasp where and who he is, he awakens with a start.

“You all right?” Melissa asks.

“Yeah. Sorry. Drifted off there.”

She rubs his back with her hand. “Fall down some stairs?”

Travis rolls over and smiles—looks at her sincerely, and says, “Fell off a merry-go-round.”

“That’s odd.”

“Tell me about it.”

There is a pause for a few minutes, and then Travis says, “I need to get downtown pretty soon.” After having woken from the dream, he feels anxious.

“That’s fine.”

“You can stay here if you want. I’ll go get my bike, and then I can take you to your car.”

“You’re gonna’ take me on your bicycle?”

“No, motorcycle.”

“Oh!”

Travis laughs at the vision of trying to balance her on his handlbars. For some reason, the vision involves him wearing thick glasses, talking with a nasel voice, wearing a bow tie.

“You have a motorcycle?”

“You knew that,” Travis says.

“No I didn’t.” She is visibly excited.

“Welp. I do.”

“That’s so cool!” Melissa’s voice rises in pitch. “I get to ride on a motorcycle!”

Travis loves the excitement, loves the vicarious joy he gets from new riders.

“That so figures.”

“What?”

“That you would have a motorcycle.”

“What? I’m a stereotype?” Travis replies indignantly. “That’s insulting.”

“Yeah, but it’s true.” Melissa lists the following items on her fingertips, “Guitar, musician, only wears t-shirts—and probably leather when its cool out—motorcycle.” She raises her eyebrows, having presented her airtight case.

“You forgot boots.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Black boots.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever. I give.”

Melissa is smiling at a private joke practically breaking out from between her pearly teeth.

“What?” Travis asks, waiting for a punch line.

“No… nothing.”

“What?”

She sighs and puts her hand out, lightly touching his nose with her index finger. He tries to look at it as she speaks. “You’re a cowboy.” She smiles, brilliantly, having said it. “Happy now?”

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: breakfast, clothes, Melissa Keller, morning, t-shirts, the morning after, Travis Fleeting