Without Fear

WITHOUT FEAR / Michael Pettit All the dogs sleeping on the dark front lawns awake at once and are up, barking into the warm night air. July: the light of the streetlamp on the street is a cool moon. Into it move a boy and girl in no hurry, each step a loss they are sure to feel. But only much later: white, his softball uniform shines and the dogs bark louder. She holds his hand, without fear if he is, and he is. Sounds of the softball field no longer reach him, but no matter, here too he is without fear. To the dogs he bows, deeply, toward their furious forms in the dark yards. He bows, but the gesture is not enough: he sits down in the street. She holds on, bends to him, her hair dropping from her shoulders as he sweeps off his cap to the dogs, the night, everything. The barking stops for a moment when life is almost perfect: if only she would fall into his arms there under the streetlamp. The dogs start. Lights come on in the houses. And he rises, undefeated, and puts on his cap. They go off down the block toward the traffic light, the still intersection changing color to color. It takes them forever to walk out of sight, and longer before the dogs fall silent. The Missouri Review · 13 ...