The Sight Brian Foley
The phone caught him in its rings. He conceded, congratulated the voice
on the other end for catching him and hung up. He went outside. They
were having a party on their neighbors' front lawn. As he
approached to rejoin the party he noticed a change in mood, a
stillness. He got closer. Everything erupted into applause. He bowed,
then realized the applause was not for him. Did you see that?
said his wife, her arms shaking. He told her he had no idea what she
was talking about. It
was the most magnificent, most beautiful.... She was at a
loss. Over her shoulder he could see his brother was crying into his
wife's sweater, who was also crying but laughing at the same time. He
demanded to know what had happened. His neighbor said, It just appeared. It was like a
big ladle of cream light.... but he had to stop to catch
his breath. By now his wife was drooling into her wine glass, overcome.
She was far away, in some other place, possibly Florida. He had never
seen such a look of pleasure on her face and her euphoria frightened
him. He could hear the phone ringing again. He knew he would never make
it in time. It was yet another thing he would have to miss. 
Brian Foley is a writer living in a New England village made out of
concrete. He blogs here and has a
forthcoming chapbook, The
Tornado is not a Surrealist, on Greying Ghost Press.
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