the man and wife were as old as they ever needed to be. barely making it on their own, and now the old well is dry. seventy nine years of living all packed up. boxed full of thens and whens and never agains. deep wells aren't supposed to run dry, they say, but shallow ones sure as hell do. the man helped her up into the truck, but nothing was said. she stared out that windshield, still as death. i reckon she was watching everything that happened, all of those years ago, in front of that old well. memories dancing hand and hand with their ghosts across the lawn. the old man climbed in, and dropped the shift into drive. he didn't give his one last glance as he drove out of the gravel path headed into never. said he'd never leave that place.
