“Where Brian Went” by Jack Kaulfus, page 3

        Brian was headed to Vancouver for an art teachers conference, the only one that year his school had agreed to spring for. It was a stupid conference, actually, the panels promising to teach him technology he’d never be savvy enough use into his classroom. He hoped for cold rain, thick cloud cover, maybe other reasons to stay inside. He planned to spend most of his time drinking coffee and looking out on the Vancouver streets. Brian’s wife had told him to use the time to reconsider their relationship.
        “I want you to know I’ve been thinking about your future,” she’d told him, handing him the beard trimmer she’d picked up for him on sale at the drugstore. He’d had his eye on it for some time. When she began her sentences with “I want you to know,” he was always thrown off by the immediate promise of intimacy. Even after so many years, he could not tell when she would deliver.
        “What about it?” He’d asked, stabbing at the hard plastic ineffectively with his pocket knife.
        “I think you should think about going back to school. Remember that offer you got from Will? I think you should drop him a line.”
        His old friend Will owned a gallery in Dallas. He hadn’t spoken to Will in two years.
        “What are you talking about?” Brian asked.
        Sarah shrugged. Lately, her face had begun to remind him of a leaky balloon. “Janie’s getting to be self sufficient. Pretty soon, she’ll be asking us if we can afford out of state tuition.”
        “She’s twelve.” Brian folded back the straight blade and tried to coax the little saw from its bed on the other side of the Swiss Army.
        “Exactly.”
        It was a setup. After a few hours, it became clear that Sarah wanted Brian to consider going back to school so he could set himself up in a better paying job to support himself a little easier when Sarah left him. The fancy beard trimmer, now freed from its plastic sheath and unfurled upon the bed between them, suddenly seemed suspect. She was probably already seeing someone else.
        The woman beside him awoke with a start, her eyes fixed wide on the upright tray in front of her, as if it held the last scene of her dream. He’d witnessed a similar expression on Janie, who refused to awaken from night terrors even when removed from her bed. Delicate, iron willed Janie, who never believed their stories the next morning.
        “No, I dreamed about horses,” she’d told Brian over her bagel and jelly just the day before Brian’s trip. Sarah had been up three solid hours in the middle of the night, arms wrapped tightly around her struggling daughter. Brian had come in during that third hour, a cup of warm milk in hand for his wife, to find her in tears. Janie’s back was arched, her face caving in on itself.
        “You don’t recall doing any screaming?” Brian asked his daughter, pouring her a glass of juice.
        “Maybe when we were running really fast,” she said, “maybe on the beach.” Sarah shot him a warning look across the table. She looked leakier than usual. Brian wondered briefly if what he was feeling for her was love, still. He decided it didn’t matter until he returned from Vancouver.
        He was glad Janie didn’t remember, but he couldn’t help wonder what she buried and carried into the day– what loathsome images might flash before the long-division on the chalkboard, what misplaced dread might hang over the stalls in the girl’s bathroom.

**

        “You’re awake just in time,” Brian said, keeping his voice even and low. “Here come the drinks.” She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her eyes. Up ahead, a baby let out a wail.
        “You want a water or something?” He asked the girl, accepting his own little cup of diet coke from a young beautiful flight attendant with a wide brown forehead. The girl looked up, remnants of the dream still playing across the space between her eyes. She nodded and accepted a sealed bottle, which she slipped into the bag at her feet. She turned her face back toward the window.
        “You all right?” Brian asked.
        “No.” The girl faced him, suddenly. “You know where we are?”
        Brian laughed. “In the air?”
        The girl shook her head. “I don’t think we’re going the right way.”
        Brian leaned past the girl and looked out the window. They were at cruising altitude, on the shadow side of the sunset. “Which way do you think we’re going?”
        The girl followed his gaze. “Jesus, I don’t know,” she said. She sighed, tiredly. “I just got this feeling. I had this dream or something.”
        Brian offered his hand. “Look, I’m Brian. I can’t manage maps on the ground, so up here, I’m kind of at the mercy of the pilot.”
        The girl nodded. Her face oriented a little. “I guess I’m a little stressed. My sister just moved out to the country with her boyfriend and he took off. She’s a mess.”
        “You’re going for a visit?”
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