The train flew across flat corn lands, over the horizon, by the lake and to the great turbulent city next to the lake, and he was running up the steps of the museum and walking among paintings to sit before the endlessly intriguing Seurat, where the Sunday strollers stood still in an eternal park.
Now beside him sat Laura, glancing back and forth from the green park to him, stunned and questioning.
At last she said, “What have you done to your face?”
“My face?” he said.
“It’s changed,” she said.
“I didn’t change it.”
“What is it, then?”
“Things. Things changed it. ”
“Can you change it back?”
“I’ll try.”
And then, as in the dream, but now in reality, he walked down the steps of the museum and all of his friends were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
There were Tom and Pete and Will and Sam and all the rest and they said, “Let’s go out for a long dinner.”
He said, “No, I haven’t the time.”
“You’ve only just said hello,” they said.
“It’s not easy,” he said. “I’ve known you all for years. But, I’ve changed. And now I’ve got to go.”
He looked back up and at the top of the stairs stood Laura. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she stared at his so-familiar yet oh-so-changed face.
He smiled, and turned away and walked down the street toward the railroad station.