Life as an Extreme Sport

what dreams have come

The shrillness of the phone pierces through the fogs of my dreaming, and habit forces me to grab it and check. It’s my father, just my father. Unthinkingly, I note the time and hit mute. It’s only 6pm, they said they would call after camp was over, status on the sick family dog. I fall back into dreams, the phone silent.

I wake again, on my own, night beginning to soften the brilliant blue sky, birds quieting down in the gloaming. I call my father, but there is no answer. No answer? At that time of day? Odd. Check messages.

There is a tightness in my father’s voice. A vagueness I recognize. I call my sister.

The cancer has returned.