by Sharon Poppen
Jack glanced at the speedometer. Another five. At only fifty-five, he cursed himself for taking it so slow.
“Get it over with, asshole,” he yelled over the roar of his Harley.
The dark. Redwood-lined road was deserted. The chance he’d hurt anyone else was slim. So, get it over with, he screamed internally.
Visions flashed through his mind like the giant trees alongside the road. Blond visions. Blond with blue eyes. Blond hair flowing across her pillow as he lowered himself into her.
He looked back down. Sixty.
He shook his head to banish the blond vision. It wouldn’t go away. Only the blond hair was no longer on the pillow and he couldn’t see the blue eyes. Blond hair was swinging wildly from side to side as it rode the body of his best friend.
He accelerated. But blond hair kept streaming across his mind. Only this time, it was swaying in the breeze of the playground swing.
“Baby,” he cried into the racing wind. His foot eased back and the speed began to drop.
The innocent blond hair and blue eyes of his child eased into his thoughts, replacing the betrayal. His child’s dimpled smile brought him back from the brink.
Jack pulled off the road and wept. He fell asleep atop a bed of dew-dampened tree needles. Thoughts of his future with his innocent blond eased the loss of his deceitful blond.