From 1999

The night before last, June had had a dream: Eight-hundred quarters were thrown into the air like rice at a wedding, except when they hit the sky they spread and became stars. A glittering sky of star-quarters. On the ground beneath the sparkling sky, she wondered what would happen when they came down. With ease, June woke. Smiling, she wanted to tell Will her dream but saw his sleep-ridden face twitching in a nasal monologue and remained silent. She watched as his mouth occasionally bit down as if on a hunk of wood. She imagined that he was gnawing on a piece of tree, hoping to eat termites.

But when they come down? Will's nose gave a massive twitch. His eyes opened in a one-moment-sleeping-the-next-moment-awake snap that so many sleepers do and that startles so many of those next to them.

"Hi."
"Hi. Were you dreaming?"
"I don't know. What time is it?"

A star-quarter fell.

"I don't know."

Will smiled and mentioned coffee. They got up to the sound of clinking.

* * * *

Will had the appearance of a man who was tall and quite handsome. Close up, he was ragged: His nose tore unnaturally from his face and his eyes shouted their whites. (Glasses calmed them nicely.) His lips were a full pink that approximated the outturned petal of a peony at their loveliest, and a newly born earthworm at their ugliest. With these petal-worms Will spoke occasionally with conviction; more often than not they were the soldered exit point for words he would never speak. These frustrated words collected in swells inside him. At times, a storm forced its way out, eating through the air and anything in its way, giving Will a fearful corrosive quality.