Color the Sidewalk for Me
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An Excerpt from Chapter 1
© Copyright 2001 by Brandilyn Collins.
Used by permission of Broadman & Holman Publishers.
Available at your local bookstore or by calling 1(800)251-3225.

The boxes are heavy, their rough rope handles cutting into my palms. An old purse weights my weary shoulder. Heat shimmers from the fuel-spotted asphalt, stifling humidity wrapping moist fingers around my throat. The squat, gray building seems so far away, and my legs are wobbling. I see others ahead of me, filing from the bus into the station. I breathe deeply, lungs filling with thick, hot air. My head feels light. Detaching itself from my body, it begins to float. Somewhere below are my arms, the boxes, my stumbling feet.

"You will find rest for your souls," I mumble dazedly. "You will find rest...."

And then the building looms before me. The door opens. My head wafts over the threshold. Distantly, I survey the interior. Three people are in line to buy bus tickets, others dot plastic orange chairs as they wait. Two children are squabbling at a vending machine. I try to remember what I am looking for.

The door closes behind me. Frigid air-conditioning slaps my cheeks. I shiver. Numbness chews away my feet, my legs. Vaguely, I feel my fingers loosen, the boxes fall away. They hit the dusty tile floor with a clunk. Two women are watching me. I see the questions on their faces, feel their stares.

The world dims. My knees fold. For a time, there is only blackness....

Muffled voices above me. Faces out of focus.

"Poor child, she's exhausted from the heat."

"And probably hasn't eaten."

"Go get her a candy bar."

Footsteps hurrying away.

The scene undulates, reshaping itself. I am in a cab, then a hotel room. So sterile, heartless. The bed beckons me. I stagger to it and collapse.

The walls close in. I suck air and my throat rattles. "Danny," I whisper. "Kevy."

After all the miles and all the running, the tears finally flow.

"Oh, Danny. Danny...Danny...Kevy...."

A gurgle in my throat yanked me to the present. My eyes blinked open. Morning sun sifted through my white lace curtains, dusting the bedcovers with flecks of gold. One of my cats stretched beside me, surveying me with lazy indifference.

You will find rest for your souls. God's promise to Granddad that he tried to pass on to me.

I lay very still, allowing my mind to adjust, as I always did after the dream. I forced myself to breath deeply until my tingling nerves settled.

Staring at the ceiling, I reflected that I'd not had the dream in a long time. Perhaps a year. Not that it mattered. Out of the many images from the past that capriciously filled my head at any given moment, this one was the least to bear.

I swallowed, passed a hand over my eyes. Glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. My alarm would go off any minute. I reached out to turn it off.

Not until I'd pulled myself from bed did I remember what day it was. Friday. My thirty-fifth birthday and my employment anniversary. Exactly ten years ago I had joined the creative team of Sammons Advertising Agency.

Ten years.

I stepped into the shower and stood under hot water, letting it wash away the residue of my dream as the scent of lavender soap flowed around me. If only it could wash away the stain on my soul as well...