Trace Amounts

Trace amounts

Spelk, March 2017

Kelly’s fussing with the mason jar, spinning it slowly, fumbling at the lid. Inside, Catherine’s ghost shines, lighting up the car. Flickering tendrils snake up the dash, weightless upon my hands.

“I’ll miss the beach,” I say, my eyes locked ahead.

“There are more oceans,” says Kelly.

We’re soaring along the desert road, trailing miles behind us. We’re going east, into the mountains, away from lives carefully constructed. I look back in the mirror. Mark and Clayton are glaze-eyed and wasted, chasing unseen dreams.

Catherine is fading. When we left L.A. she was so bright I could barely even look. Kelly hid her in her coat as we passed other cars. We’ve not seen another for a while. I fight the urge to say something with every passing minute.

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