This Side of Salvation

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If this were the last night of my life, I could be at peace with that.

That, and everything else, as I walk hand in hand with Bailey out of the pool house and back into the blare of the party. Her long hair brushes my elbow, stirring memories of reaching, fumbling inthe dark; memories so fresh they feel more like dreams—not etched as events in my past but posed as possibilities in my future.

Future. A word that stumbles off my tongue lately, like a phrase in a new foreign language.

The sandstone clock on the side of the pool houses four minutes after two. The final hour.

I try to put myself in the place of my parents and the others who think the Rapture will take place in fifty-six minutes. They’re waiting for that moment when the true believers, living and dead, will be raised up from earth before all hell literally breaks loose.

After scarfing their new favorite foods—pizza, cheesesteaks, TastyKakes—or are they already dreaming of that heavenly banquet? Are they playing their favorite tunes on infinite loop, or are they dreaming of that angelic choir? Are they having sex (not my parents—the thought makes me gag), or are they dreaming of that divine embrace?

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