“Drove My Chevy to the Levy”

Keith gets up at 4:20 every morning, so by the time we get Graham to bed and he reads me a selection from our current book (The Dollmaker, by Harriet Arnow, lent to us by Gail), it’s late for him and he’s very tired.

Last night, as often happens, he went to bed before me (thought I’d rather go in with him, I had things I needed to do). When I went in, a little while later, he was all warm and snug. I woke him for a brief cuddle and then he went back to sleep. I couldn’t sleep—my usual insomnia. I was lying beside him, not too close, with one hand resting lightly on his butt, when I heard him emit a high sound of surprise and fear and his warm butt went instantly cold and goose-bumps rose on his butt. They were the largest goose-bumps I’d ever felt in my life.

I said, “Keith, are you all right?”

He said, “Oh, thank you for saving me.” He then proceeded to tell me that he and I and someone else were out on a very long pier when we looked up and saw a huge Tsunami rear up and roar toward us. We turned and ran toward shore, and Keith was thinking, terrified, “This will be the day that I die.” (And that was when I woke him.)

(Drove my Chevy to the Levy, but the levy was dry, and good boys were drinking whisky and rye singing this will be the day that I die)