Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'There are no secrets that time does not reveal.' Jean Racine

I am in bed. The night drags on.

I remember when she was born; it was impossible to imagine such a tiny fragile person as an adult.

I recall her first solid foods; the bright expressions of her first sweet taste, and the facial scrunch from something sour. I taught her to ride a bike, and to skate. I saw her fear of the first school day, the electricity of graduations, and then both on the drive to the airport to see her off to Sudan.

Memories run through my head like a movie reel on repeat. When I remember other ones, I splice them in, and replay it from the beginning.

For the fifth night, I can't sleep, and wonder why I bother. I spend several hours reviewing things to do. I write them down like a shopping list. One task is to get more information; I have trouble with one overriding question; how did the fire start? At first it was an accident, and now a house fire with propane tank explosions. They don't spontaneously combust. I assume there was an investigation. The WFP lady didn't have any answers. I doubt Facebook pictures will provide insight. I am determined to keep my travel plans, and find out the details of what happened.

I leave for Sudan in two days, but there is one more thing to do today.

I am finally asleep, and dreaming.

I am upstairs in my bedroom, looking at myself in the mirror; my red striped tie perfectly double Windsored, and my Hugo Boss suit smooth and unwrinkled, with a knife-sharp crease down the front of each leg, capable of slicing vegetables. My chin is stubble free. Wife-Kelly calls to me from downstairs;

"We have to leave, any longer and we won't make it in time,"

I don't know where we're going.

"I'll be right down," I call back, and look around the room for clues. Nothing is out of place, and I go downstairs; the front door is open and I see the back of wife-Kelly's green dress as she goes outside.

"I'll meet you there," she shouts back, and climbs into a taxi. She closes the door before I can see her face. She rolls down the window, but the inside of the car is dark.

"Don't be too long; Kelly will never forgive you if you're late for her wedding."

"What?" I shout, but the taxi speeds away.

I am confused.

I enter the garage, but my car is not there. It's not out front either.

Wife-Kelly's word echo in my mind, 'don't be late'. I don't know where the wedding is taking place. The most likely place is the Recreation Centre, which has a hall for rent. I run.

My shoes make loud clip clop noises on the sidewalk, and without proper soles, they are slippery.

At the end of the street I turn right and spot the Centre, three blocks away. People in handsome suits and pastel dresses are spilling out. I run towards them.

I spot Kelly in a white wedding dress, smiling. Her long blond hair is curled and pinned up; she looks like an angel.

The groom is male-Kelly with his blond tresses flowing loosely down the back of his black tuxedo. I've missed her wedding, and my heart sinks. I run towards them as I prepare my explanation; however, the sidewalk is as slippery as ice, and I can't move forward. I get traction, but then the sidewalk grows longer, so that as I run towards them, they get farther away, like a conveyor belt in reverse.

Their backs are to me. They face the crowd in front of the hall ducking under rice that is thrown at them.

They made a nice couple; identical in most ways, height, and hair color and style. They both wave at people under a shower of rice. The new couple climb into a black limousine with old fashioned tin cans strung to the bumper, and a gaudy 'just married' sign in crooked black and red letters balanced on it. I am one block away as they close the door. I am gasping.