Memories and Babies
Memories and Babies
“I like sparklers.” She said to him, staring out the ceiling.
“I don’t want to go to the store and get pie. I’m tired of pie. Why does he always want pie?” He asked the steering wheel.
“Family and picnics and things that never meant anything until they were nothing and he had a baby and a memory and nothing more, air filled with sweet scents and mothers warm arms and her cheeks stained with his cherry pie lips that giggled and laughed as baby kicked inside her womb. Then she was gone and there was no more sweet and no more laughing. Just memories of pie and baby. All he had was baby.”
Sam wanted to cry, never wanted to understand the psychic connection to someone so far away and obviously insane and so compassionate and uncaring about the pain her words inflicted on him.
“I’ll get sparklers.” He said to her, not knowing what else to offer her. “We’ll get sparklers and light them up and play in the dark fields. We’ll pretend we’re fireflies and we’ll chase each other through the night.”
“Through time and space and back. To Infinity and beyond!” She was quiet for a moment, she always was when she picked something from his head that she didn’t understand. Quotes from Toy Story might do that to anyone though. “I like the silver ones.” She said, and then she was gone.
Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to find some pie. Not just the crap he usually bought in the box from the grocery store either. If that’s what this was, memories of their mother, Dean deserved more. Something warm from the diner down the block maybe. He took a deep breath and set out on the road, thinking of sparklers and pie.