Free Elvissey by Jack Womack Page A

you fly?"
    "I thought I wasn't me. I didn't think I was. The feel's as
different as the look."
    "You inspired so-" he said.
    "A blondie in your bed inspired as I never have."
    "You, you, only you-"
    "I could have been anyone," I said. "So your actions
evidenced. You've never hurt me before, John, especially not
bedded."
    With scarred hands he dried his eyes. "Not with you," he
said. "Not deliberate, never. Never. Forgive, Iz, forgive-"
    "All we've done is forgive sans forgetting," I said. "It
wearies."
    "I blanked, Iz. I never meant to hurt. Not you. Never."
    "So you blanked, I blanked. Lovemaking at last, and nobody home."
    We lay there listening to our sounds. Mayhap that explained his drugs' noneffect; he'd have bled himself into
coma had true violence inhered. Mayhap a blinding exuberance of emotion astrayed him, the love of another surpassing all sense: nothing more, I retold myself, believing as I
could. My husband appeared helpless as a beached whale as
he lay there, his respiration gradually slowing as his sobs
slipped away. The clock clicked midnight; our departure day
arrived, and as it did, John spoke again.
    "Will we ever regood ourselves, Iz?"

    "I don't know," I said. "Forgiven, forgotten," I said. "Two
renewed virgins who'd let their technik lapse. Nothing
more."
    "Supposed," he said, petting my face. I wouldn't pull
away, but didn't feel able to touch him again so soon.
"Twelve hours till leavetaking, thereabouts."
    "Scared?" I asked.
    "No. You?" I shook my head, lying as he did; traced my
fingers along an old riverbed topographing his cheek, regretful that he'd made hate rather than love to me. "Say we
pass over, Iz, and naught changes between us. What then?"
he asked.
    "Abey hopes while traveling, John," I said. "Don't dwell
overmuch now. Earplay as we go, and we'll reconsider all,
once returned. This may suffice, or may not."
    "It's facted I'm positive about this trip," he said, sounding
unnervingly insistent, anxious for belief. "I've no negatives.
Not one."
    "Known, love," I said. "Return first, then we'll see. Work
as commanded till then."
    "Return's not guaranteed, Iz," he said.
    "Known."
    Laying his head on the pillow next to mine, engulfing my
hand within his, John stared at me; I knew he saw into me
as I saw into him, however much we forever fought our
mutual trespasses. "The advantage, after all," he said. "Be
near me always, Iz. Always. Will you be near me always?"
    I knew the answer he wanted to hear; it couldn't be mine,
could never be mine. Death should hinge neither on another's desire, nor on the lack thereof, but should arrive
accorded as it sees fit; as naturally, and unexpectedly, as
love. "I'll try," I answered; but softly, minutes later, and I
wasn't sure he was listening; but in his mind, he'd already
heard.

    At morningside we donned our traveling clothes, bespoken
for our journey; the researchers judged them era-appropriate. John wore a black double-breasted suit, white shirt, gray
hat and a tie imprinted with neon swirls; I was ensembled
with a blue pillbox hat and boat-necked sheath dress midcalf-long, clinging to my shape as burlap drapes potatoes.
The shoes given me had toes so pointed and heels so spiked
that they pained, merely to see; wearing unbeared, but I
adjusted.
    We were driven to Dryco; while John and Leverett readied
our car for removal, I went to see Judy, who'd wished to meet
once more, predeparture. While waiting for her to unlink
from her conferencees, I wandered through her office's
inner reception area, hidden from executaries' stares, struggling to think of anything other than John, or our assignment; a new shipment of design elements awaited dispersal
throughout her suite. I wondered where my desk would be,
afterward.
    Judy stepped from her chamber; paused at her door;
stared at me as if I were a stranger. "Iz?"
    "Howdy," I said; she frowned. "What's thought?"
    "That's apparel, over there? Their poor women," she said,