Lexicon

an
airport
. He grabbed the handrail, intending to pull himself up to look for security, but his knees went in opposite directions and he tumbled down the rest of the way. Body parts telegraphed complaints from faraway places. He rose. Sweat ran into his eyes. Because the head fog wasn’t confusing enough; he needed
blurred vision
. But he could see light, which meant
exit
, which meant
Cecilia
, so he ran on. Someone shouted. The light grew. Frigid air burst around him as if he’d plunged into a mountain lake and he sucked it into his lungs. Snow, he saw. It was snowing. Flakes like tiny stars.
    “Help, guy with gun,” he said to a man who looked like a cop but on reflection was probably directing cabs. Orange buses. Parking bays. The two-minute spaces were just a little farther. He almost collided with a trolley-laden family and the man tried to grab his jacket but he kept running and it was starting to make sense, now, running; he was starting to remember how to coordinate the various pieces of his body, and he threw a glance over his shoulder and a pole ran into him.
    He tasted blood. Someone asked if he was okay, some kid pulling earbuds out of his hair. Wil stared. He didn’t understand the question. He had run into a pole and all his thoughts had fallen out. He groped for them and found Cecilia. He raised his body like a wreck from the deep and shoved aside the kid and rode forward on a crest of the kid’s abuse. He finally saw it, Cecilia’s car, a white fortress on wheels with VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS on the rear window. Joy drove his steps. He wrenched open the handle and fell inside. He had never been so proud. “Made it,” he gasped. He closed his eyes.
    “Wil?”
    He looked at Cecilia. “What?” He began to feel unsure, because her face was strange. And then it came to him, in a fountain of dread that began somewhere unidentifiable and ended in his testicles: He should not be here. He should not have led men with guns to his girlfriend. That was a stupid thing to do. He felt furious with himself, and dismayed, because it had been so hard to get here, and now he had to run again.
    “Wil, what’s wrong?” Her fingers came at him. “Your nose is bleeding.” There was a tiny furrow in her brow, which he knew very well and was sad to leave.
    “I ran into a pole.” He reached for the latch. The longer he sat here, the closer the fog pressed.
    “Wait! Where are you going?”
    “Away. Have to—”
    “Sit down!”
    “Have to go.”
    “Then I’ll drive you somewhere! Stay in your seat!”
    That was an idea. Driving. “Yes.”
    “You’ll stay if I drive?”
    “Yes.”
    She reached for the ignition. “Okay. Just . . . stay. I’ll take you to a hospital or something. All right?”
    “Yes.” He felt relief. Weight stole through his body. He wondered if it was okay to slide into unconsciousness. It seemed out of his hands now. Cecilia would drive to safety. This car was a tank; he had mocked it before, because it was so big and she was so tiny but they were equally aggressive, and now it would save them. He might as well close his eyes a moment.
    When he opened them, Cecilia was looking at him. He blinked. He had the feeling he’d fallen asleep. “Why . . .” He sat up.
    “Shhh.”
    “Are we moving?” They were not moving. “Why aren’t we moving?”
    “Just stay in your seat, until they get here,” Cecilia said. “That’s the important thing.”
    He turned in his seat. The glass was fogged over. He couldn’t see what was out there. “Cecilia. Drive. Now.”
    She tucked a wisp of hair behind one ear. She did that when she was remembering something. He could see her across a room, talking to somebody, and know she was relating a memory. “Remember the day you met my parents? You were freaking out because you thought we were going to be late. But we weren’t. We weren’t late, Wil.”
    He rubbed condensation from the window. Through the whiteout, men in brown suits jogged toward him. “Drive! Cil!
Drive!
”
    “This is just like then,” she said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
    He lunged across her, groping for the ignition. “
Where are the keys?
”
    “I don’t have them.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t have them anymore.” She put a hand on his thigh. “Just sit with me a minute. Isn’t the snow beautiful?”
    “Cil,” he said. “Cil.”
    There was a flash of dark movement and the door opened. Hands seized him. He fought the hands, but they were