Anthony DeCosmo - Fusion

“Now, listen up. Trev, you know how this trick works. What do you think, an hour or two before you got to get back to business around here? Vacations are nice and all, but…”

“An hour or two should do,” Trevor smiled at Nina seemed both puzzled and amused.

“Now close your eyes and relax. Just-relax…”

A horn honked and startled Nina’s eyes wide open. A bright sun replaced the dark forest. A blend of smells assaulted her nose; she could taste smoky exhaust fumes from traffic on a wide city street and the aroma of sizzling steak floating from a nearby stand.

Trevor squeezed her hand as he surveyed the surroundings. They stood in the shadow of tall buildings with throngs of pedestrians who wore the clothes of a busy work day walking around them in either direction. The sounds of cars driving, feet drumming, a distant siren, and a melody crooning from a nearby radio bombarded their ears.

“W-what is this?” Nina gasped as her head snapped side to side.

Trevor understood.

“You tell me. Where are we?”

Nina licked her lips, steadied herself as if on the verge of falling over from confusion, and searched the area a little more methodically. She saw landmarks immediately; landmarks she had not seen in years but they remained familiar.

“Broad Street,” she mumbled. Then louder: “We’re on Broad Street. In Philadelphia.”

Trevor smiled and repeated what she had said to him one sad night, the last night before her memories were taken. “You said this would be the best place to live. Lots to do around here, I guess.”

She did not hear him. She stared at the bronze statue of William Penn atop City Hall.

“But Trevor, that statue fell when City Hall burned back on the first day of the invasion. We never rebuilt it.”

“Nina-I think-I think this is going to take some explaining.”

She stepped closer to him and he gazed into those beautiful blue eyes.

“How did we-why is this-I’m just saying, this isn’t right.”

“It’s exactly right,” Trevor assured. “Just the two of us. No responsibilities except to each other. We can stay here for a while and catch up on lost time. Stolen time.”

“So this…” she gazed around at the traffic, the crowds, a passenger jet flying overhead far above the downtown skyscrapers. “…this isn’t real?”

Trevor pointed to the image of a blue sky and told her, “Out there an hour or two will pass. In here? Maybe a week or so. Think of it as a vacation. Besides, time is really all in our heads anyway. I went through this once before-not as pleasant, of course. Trust me-our memories will make it real.”

Something distracted Trevor. He turned around and yelled to the cheese steak vender while pointing toward the radio just inside the service window.

“Hey, buddy, you mind turning that up?”

Like everything else in the dream, the man accommodated.

The melody drifted above the commotion of gridlocked cars and shuffling people.

“I go out walkin’ after midnight, Out in the moonlight, Just like we used to do, I’m always walkin’ after midnight searchin’ for you…”

Nina recognized the voice of Patsy Cline. The music Trevor had played for her that first night at her apartment; that first night of being in love. So many more nights lay ahead.

Trevor extended a hand to her in invitation.

“May I have this dance, miss?”

She accepted.

Trevor glanced around at the crowd of phantasms. He recalled her fear that first time and warned lightheartedly, “I’m afraid a lot of people are watching.”

Nina smiled and answered, “As long as you’re watching.”

She stepped close, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his shoulder. It felt nice. Comfortable. Familiar.

Trevor cleared his mind of the troubles of the world that waited outside the dream, and took her in his arms. The strength he felt in holding her was no illusion.

“I go out walkin’ after midnight, out in the moonlight, just hopin’ you may be, somewhere a-walkin’ after midnight, searchin’ for me…”

The music played, the crowd walking Broad Street parted around the dancing pair, and Trevor and Nina swayed gently back and forth-together in a world of their own.