DAYDREAM

by K. Jeffery Petersen

Perhaps it will happen when I am driving. Down Steilacoom Boulevard, I think. I 
will be taking a right turn, past 87th, and see her in the oncoming lane, at the 
stop light. She will be sitting in the back seat, looking forward.
	
I will slam on the brakes. The car behind me will rear-end my old Volvo, and do 
enough damage to the rear end to finally sever the last ties between the muffler 
and the underbody. Three more cars will pile up behind that one. The driver 
behind me will get out and start cursing at me, but I won't care. I'll already 
be out of my car, and running across that asphalt triangle.
	
She will be in the backseat, staring at the automotive carnage like everyone 
else at the intersection, mouth hanging slightly agape and eyes wide. She will 
stare past me as I knock on the window. Her eyes will flicker for a moment, then 
come into focus on me. As she rolls down the window, her eyes will jump back and 
forth between me and the events behind me.
	
"Hi," I will say, forcing a wide smile.
	
"Hello." Her grin will be tentative, and her eyebrow will twitch a few times.
	
"You look familier."
	
"That's nice to hear."
	
"Could you sign something for me?"
	
"Sign what?"
	
I will pat my pockets, inwardly cursing myself for not being prepared for the 
situation.
	
"Nothing?" She will ask, then sigh.
	
"Oh, wait!" My hand will com down on my wallet, and I'll pull out the pack of 
things stuffed in there. Business cards and receipts will rain down at my feet 
as I search for the two tickets. "I know they're in here somewhere." A Bug's 
Life, Armageddon, and The Postman will tumble to the ground. "Here they are." I 
will proffer the two tickets to her.
	
"Star Wars," she will say with an approving (I hope) nod of her head.
	
"For that 12:30 showing, I didn't have to wait to see it," I will add, then kick 
myself inwardly for sounding so stupid.
	
"Been a fan for long?" Someone in the front seat will pass her a pen, and she 
will hunch over to scrawl on the tickets.
	
"No," I shake my head. "Only since May 25th."
	
Her head will come up sharply. "That's rather specific."
	
"That's what I decided."
	
"Right. Here you are." She will hand the tickets back. One signed "Natalie" the 
other "Portman."
	
"Thanks, Natalie," I'll smile again. I want to say "I'm Jeff," but my voice will 
die.
	
She will smile back, then the light will go green, and she'll be gone.