Two Lost Souls

The world was ending.

Well, I think I'll rephrase that.

Our world was ending; the world as we knew it was coming to a violent and abrupt cessation. The population had already gone violent, and the ocean levels had begun to rise. The sirens had long been silenced by an angry mob of looters, rapists or killers. No humans were expected to survive.

Sadly, there were no zombies.

I've always wondered what the end of civilization would be like. What could have caused it? A T-virus? Global warming? Unfortunate planetary alignment? The Bomb?

And how would I react to the knowledge that these were the last days? What would I do? Who would I call? Would there be tears? Would I suddenly develop certain conviction in my so-called faith? Would I repent and pray?

Of course not.

I spent it cuddled up on a couch with that green-eyed, prank-playing, cigarette smoking hero who's been the star of too many of my dreams lately. If he ever bothered to read this, he'd recognize himself in a heartbeat, and probably think I'd become some kind of obsessed stalker, but he'd be wrong. My subconscious picks him because he's safe. My subconscious understands that I'm afraid of commitment, and he's afraid of commitment, so he's been listed permanently under the "Fantasy Only" column. Safe. No commitment- no heartache. Safe.

Yet, there we were, doing the crossword together in the middle of the swirling ocean, floating past pieces of debris that used to be structured buildings and vehicles that we once called part of daily life. I knew it was crazy to be doing that thing with that person, even as I dreamed it, but it didn't keep me from enjoying the situation.

"Twelve down, a dead person, five letters, second letter O."

"Goner," I said, and laughed. and then he laughed too, because were were pretty much all goners at that point.

"You're so sexy when you do that," he said, and I pulled back a little to look him square in the eye. He's never said anything like that to me. He never gave me any indication that he thought I was attractive at all. He was supposed to be safe. Calling me sexy was not safe.

"What is wrong with you?" I asked him.

"I'm trying to flirt with you." He grimaced.

"We are sitting on a tipsy couch floating in the middle of a trash-filled, turbulent ocean with an undetermined amount of time left on this disintegrating planet, and NOW you want to try and flirt with me? Where are your priorities?"

"I must not be very good at it. I've been flirting with you all along. You just never noticed."

I wasn't horrified by his confession, but I was dumbfounded. Had I really dismissed him so easily? Have I been moving through life blind to his affections? As I turned back to my crossword to think more about it, he wrapped a strong arm around my shoulder and kissed my temple. We floated along, content with the warmth of each other.

"The brownies are done," he told me. And then I woke up. The kitchen timer was beeping.
Thank goodness. It was just a dream after all. Of course it was just a dream, I knew that, silly me. He hadn't actually been flirting with me.

I'm still safe.