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SUMMARY: Flash fiction contest entry.

"You know the saying, don't you? About the dog and its vomit?"
"Yeah, I know it. So I'm a fool now?"
"Seems like you may be following a folly of some kind."
"He said he'd wait."
"Sure, he did and he meant it. But living in that quiet village of his, the theme and the lyrics were bound to play games with his words."
"Now, you're talking folly. Music can't do that to you."
"Really? What happens when you hear "And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on?"
"Nothing...well. Maybe a bit of tear...that was such a love..."
"Yeah, so quiet villages can bring similar reactions.'
"Not to him. He's more the brown skinned girl type."
"Except he's the one who stayed at home."
"Without the baby."
"And you sailed away."
"And the trip was long and arduous, John B."
"But the sheriff got you back aboard and now you"re..."
"Goin' home, goin' home...as if I knew what home means.
"Nothing driving you home, Miss Daisy. Just your own self."
"Home? Isn't the place you were born and raised? Hell, I was born and raised in Missouri and you know how far Missouri is from his island? Try over the rainbow and back. It's like this voyage going from one world to another. Where I was born and raised isn't my home and his island isn't mine. So, tell me again about home and how I'm going there."
"Home's a fold, girl, a pasture where all the sheeps can get cozy together, forget about the wolves baying at edges."
"A fold. Yeah, I like that: a fold. Like the fold we pierce to get Alpha Centauri and back."
"Different folds. Nothing safe and cozy about quantum folds, just something nominally trustworthy, workable, probably efficient but more a matter of faith than knowledge."
"Sounds like love to me."
Laughing. "Yeah, sounds that way to me, too. So, you have faith he'll be there waiting?"
"Faith? I'm not that secure. Call it hope."
"Now, all you need is the charity and you claim the prize for most theological vuirtues in one week. It's been two and half years, girl. You hope he waited two and a half years?
"And, if he did, what kind of love must that be?"
"But, did he? That's the question."
"We can talk it to death. In the end, I have to find out; don't I?"
"So, you're going back to the island in the sun."
"Got nothin' better to do. Sure, could sign up for the next trip out and hang around the station watching them redneck boys throwing stuff around the loading docks. Maybe drink a little tequila and watch my clothes fall off. But, that doesn't have any appeal for me, you know? In my mind, I just can't make that work."
"In your mind you see yourself..."
"On a beach, with a guitar playing something in the background, something vaguely Italian, something from a different era. Words like "Please, come back, bella mia. Hurry back, hurry home to my arms, to my lips, and my arms."
"Never heard it."
"Long time ago, great-grandma's time.
"So, you're on the beach and?
"And he's beside me. My head's resting on his chest, the breaker's final curls are playing with our toes. And we're not saying a thing."
"This before or after?"
Laughter.