P. J. Taylor
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A Walk after Dark
 

The elderly man rises stiffly from his porch chair, inhales a deep breath of warm night air and makes his way to the quiet, Flagstaff road running in front of his property. He walks away from the moon that shines dully on the dashed white lines stretching out into the far, flat distance.

In no hurry, he follows the lines pausing now and then to enjoy a skidding star's brilliant, if brief, arc. Beneath his feet, he feels a vibration and watches as a lone beam becomes a pair of wavering headlights. He comes to a halt in the center of the road caught in a rush of wind that brushes up gray memories.

How as a tired father on the long drive to Disneyland he was almost lulled to sleep by the sound of his wife's voice reading by flashlight to their children. Out joyriding one night with a rowdy group of his friends, how he had to lunge to grab the wheel as the driver of the car swerved in time to a Chuck Berry tune. How once heading for home on leave from the Army, he recklessly pushed and pulled on the headlight knob to watch the moon illuminate the surrounding dark. And full of melancholy now, he recollects how, as a young newlywed, he pretended to mind as his giggling bride fumbled reaching into his lap.

But one memory drives him off the blacktop, leaves him restless and turning back for home. How one night, as a young boy bracing himself in the backseat, he recalls listening as his mother swore softly under her breath; her tear-stained and battered face reappearing each time she swiveled the rearview mirror to search the blackness gathered behind them like his father's fist.  

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P. J. Taylor is a writer living in San Francisco. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in such journals as Möbius, Santa Clara Review, Kalliope, Rock Salt Plum, insolent rudder, Rearview Quarterly, Salt River Review, Tar Wolf Review, All Things Girl, Calyx and The DMQ Review, which awarded her with their 2002 Muses Award.
E-mail: p.j.taylor at mybluemuse dot com
Website: www.mybluemuse.com  

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