A. D.

It was the future, and the boy and girl were very old.

"Seems like we've been here before," he said.

"Yes, but it's beautiful," she replied. Her voice fell dead on a blanket of snow.

The sun was setting behind the Wisconsin tree line. Shards of light poured through the winter branches, like God escaping through clenched fists.

"Yeah, it is." 

A snowflake fell between them.

It is the present, and the boy and girl are still very young. 

"This is such a beautiful place," she sighed.

"Yes. It is."

He kicked into the sand with his boot, uncovering a shard of broken glass. She stared intently into the horizon. The sun rose through the mist: a pale ball of white behind the Lake Michigan fog. The girl walked into the mist, and disappeared.

Later, there was talking, and music, and tequila, and a glass of red wine. The boy with the guitar waited for a turn.

They stood on a stage in Little Rock. A mockingbird whistled in a Louisiana Live Oak.

In another time and another place, I went to the Gypsy and paid her five dollars. I asked her about the boy and the girl.

"What's you' sign, mistuh?" she asked.

I told her it was the Volcano.

"Ain't noboody gwine take duh Volcano," she said. Then she laughed at me and said that  I had no business with the boy and the girl. But she kept the five-dollar bill.

It was later, and the songs were finished. The bartender was washing glasses, and hangers-on were mingling.

"I've seen this before," she said. "It was always so beautiful."

"Do you think anyone will remember it like this?" he asked. 

She had no answer, so she lowered her eyes. He lit a cigarette and walked off the stage.

Now it's winter, and the geese are flying southward, down the Illinois Valley, down the Mississippi River, down toward Memphis. The air is biting.

"What's left?" she asks.

"Nothing, babe. Wasn't there to start, anyway."

"But didn't you see it?"

"Yeah. I did."

The train stopped in Balitmore. It was the end of the line. The conductor asked for their tickets, but they said they didn't have any, so he kicked them out of first class. They had to carry their gear to the 9:30 because they didn't have money for a cab.

"This is it, babe."

It wasn't as seedy as she'd imagined. Still, an odor lingered. 

They played until midnight, and the manager paid them in cash. Afterwards, they returned to the conductor and gave him a hundred dollars for his trouble. They took a cab. When the train left for Phoenix, they stood on the tracks waving goodbye. From the caboose, the conductor waved a white handkerchief as he disappeared into the sunset.

"It's so beautiful here," she said.

"Yes," he said. "It's just like I remember it." 

"Do you think anyone else is noticing this?"

"I am."

The boy picked up his guitar case and walked up the stairs to the platform. He sat alone on a bench and strummed an E chord, then walked his fingers down tinny strings with eerie twang. The girl stood on the tracks and lifted her chin, her cheeks illumined with golden red as thunder rolled from the West. Down in the holler, Blind Willie lifted his voice to the Volcano, and all the lovers trembled at the rending of the sky.