Joey started to yawn, a fairly aggressive and loud yawn.

“Joey, buddy, let me grab you some pillows and a blanket. You can crash on the couch.” I point to the bed in the jail cell and back at the couch. “Would you like the couch?” I ask.

“Ah, yeah man. The couch is great. Those fucking bars a bit to much kink for my taste,” Joey says.

“Cool, cool,” I say while starting to walk away.

I start looking through the only hallway closet in the place, and there doesn’t seem to be blankets or pillows in there.

Sariel follows after me and says: “oh, no, there are too many towels in that tiny closet to fit blankets and pillows, so you just keep them in the large walk-in closet in the bedroom.”

“Oh,” I say while getting completely lost in her light blue eyes.

She lightly brushes my hand, the kind of touch that is so intimate and close that you could swear it was her way of telling me how she feels, but it could have also been an accident, and I’m just not brave enough to ask.

“Here, I’ll show you,” she says before walking into the bedroom.

I stand frozen a moment, watching her walk away, while my mind suddenly flashes back to the funeral of her dead children, the funeral of my dead children, and the hours that I spent with her and Gad after. We all cried, laughed, hug, ate, drank, and cried some more. We mostly cried, and all three of us because closer to one another than you would think anyone could become. Gad didn’t have a funeral for his children though, but I don’t remember why.

Sariel comes out of the bedroom with a couple of blankets and a pillow, looks at me and asks: “are you OK?”

My heart feels heavy, and I can barely speak when I caress her cheek and say: “I remember you.”

Son of Sappho Through the Gates , , , , ,

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