she's on the phone with me.

my head's tilted, pressing the phone between my ear and shoulder, i hear her.

we both get quiet. a lapse in conversation.

then she starts humming. softly. she may not even realize she's doing it.

but there she is, humming.

and it's soft and clear and something about it calms.

i had something i wanted to say or ask, but as soon as she started humming, i let it slip away so i wouldn't interrupt this.

the cricket outside picks up, wings moving to a pace it understands, and she stops.

i'm half afraid she's done. the humming's over.

but it picks up. a few repeated measures.

i can hear that hum trail its way into my future, if i let it. if i let myself get carried away into fantasies and dreams.

i can see myself sick, needing her next to me as i roll out of a sleep of fever into a new sleep of fever. and in that brief moment of being aware, i can hear her humming as she runs her fingers through my hair to calm me some.

i can see standing in the doorway, leaning there, watching her walk around the darkened room, unaware that i'm there. she's got the child in her arms, the baby, carrying her, humming her to sleep.

she stops humming, asks me a question, and i'm back here.

back in my apartment. back right here.

while she's there, 1600 miles away.

on her own bed.

with her own fears of something from now interweaving its way into dreams for the futures.

because it becomes too hard to think about that. it becomes too hard to think of possibilities.

but they're always there.