One more mile,

just one more mile. I had been riding my bike along Silverdale Way, turning off as I pass the bottom of Oyster Bay, the sun has set and I have left the highway for the water front. As the air cools below the temperature of the moist ground and the surrounding waters of the bay, the fog arose, first as a mist on the water, then creeping out from under the conifers towering over the roadway, finally it covers the road and works its way toward the sky, the newly risen full moon shades toward orange and disappears.

For some reason a scrap of a short story comes to mind, of the London Fog, where dimensional boarders blur and in the dissolution of parallel worlds, the random pedestrian may find themselves or their world changed.

The mist eddies and swirls, shadows form and drift apart, insects and frogs croak and sing and strum, other noises, some recognizable and others so foreign the mind filters them out of cognitive acceptance. Forming out of the miasmas is a horse and wagon, there are no Amish here and on the rear of the wagon there is no slow moving vehicle triangle. The hooded driver ignores me and soon they fade from sight.

I push even harder for home. I want nothing to do with what is going on here. Soon I turn up hill, this is military housing and the word ticky-tacky applies, one unit looks like the next with four to six units sharing walls and fifteen to fifty feet away another row of the same. The dark and fog hides the street lights, house lights, and any sense of warmth from windows and doors. I check the street sign, I’m on Wencker Way, now to find number 33-c.

I lock my bike to the side of the carport and enter the living room, I just want to shower and cuddle with my wife of nine years, perhaps to throw a tape in the beta max. I head for the master bath and strip as I enter, wondering if she had redecorated today while I had been at work. She must have been shopping at the Asian Mart again, the bottles of body wash and shampoo are labeled in that language of hers, I only knew a few words, mostly ones with English origins. That‘s quite a special body wash, my skin darkens and my body hair has taken a trip south with what is left at the drain a gummy/slimy mess. I am glad that I did not pick it as the shampoo however the shampoo as left my hair shiny, fragrant, longer? I couldn’t find the underclothing that I had prepositioned in the bathroom closet, I wrap myself in a towel and head toward the bedroom.

I pull out the drawers, it looks like her clothing, the only clothing for men was too large for me? Out of desperation I slide on the plain white jockey for her, they fit, puzzling as my wife is over a foot shorter than I. Okay perhaps the pajamas are ok, they are satin and flowing, more room in the legs and sleeves than I’m used to. At first the top had been loose but now it felt like it was caressing me, my chest felt the teasing slide of the fabric on my nipples. I grabbed the first pair of footwear my hand came upon and found myself with wedge heeled slippers on my feet, I headed down to find my wife and a nightcap.

As I passed the corner, an Asian man I did not recognize, swung me around and kissed me deeply, I broke free and ran for the door. As I started out I felt the stab of the cold, my mind and heart would not let go of the warmth in his arms, and the heart wrenching depth of his kiss. I closed the door, and turned around. Realizing that I was seeing my wife’s eyes and smile, I jumped into his arms.