These Dreams of You

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Lying in the dark of the hotel on the rue d’Alsace, the dank yellow lights of the Gare de l’Est coming through the window, Zan watches his son on the other bed. “Parker,” he says after a few minutes, and the boy doesn’t answer. “Parker.”

“What?” Parker finally replies. He lies on his side, his back to his father.

“How’s the hand?”

“It hurts.”

“It will feel better when the ibuprofen kicks in.”

“O.K.”

“Are you all right?” says the father.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“What are you thinking about?”

For a moment Parker doesn’t say anything and then, “If I had disappeared in London like Sheba, would you have left me there too?”