Insanity

 

The message read, It’s over.  He then attached an itinerary for a flight reservation in my name from Madison to San Francisco, in one week’s time.  Provision had been made for one small animal to accompany the traveler in the cabin.  There didn’t seem to be a return flight.  I stared at the monitor, in a brutal war with myself, before I texted him, I can’t.  Five minutes later he answered, Please.  

Jesse never said please.  Convinced someone must have stolen his phone, I called him.  

“Megan,” his voice answered. 

                     

“You’ve gone crazy,” I told him, without any conviction.  

“In a way it feels I have,” he admitted, “but I don’t know what else to do.”

 

I went quiet, and so did he.  

“When would I come back?” I finally asked.

 

“I don’t know.  When it burned out, or we couldn’t deal with it anymore, I guess.”

 

“It might burn out in a week.  I can’t put Cookie through all of that—I’ll just come for a few days.”

 

“I might not know what’s going to happen,” Jesse said, “but I’m fairly certain it will take longer than a week.  It’s better to bring him with you.”