“What?” she answered the phone. 

“Someday when I call, you’ll say hello,” he said. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m in Kansas City, at the airport,” he said. “Is it true what they say about the crazy little women here?” 

“I’m hanging up.” 

“No, no,” he said. “I’m on my way back from D.C. I’ve made up my mind; I’m going to run.” 

“I thought you were depressed about all this.” she said. “I thought you were getting bored with politics. What happened to your ennui?”

“I was bored, I was,” he said. “But this is an open seat, and I talked with some of the money people, consultants, and a couple of electeds and everyone thinks I can do it.”

“The girl is not going to be happy,” she said. 

“She’ll get over it.” 

“Will she?” 

“I’ll talk to her.” 

“When?” she asked, “Are you about to get on a flight to New Mexico?” 

“No,” he said. “But I did think about staying long enough here to drive out to Lebanon.” 

“You can’t visit that town without me,” she said. “And you should be coming here first to tell her.” 

“I can’t,” he said. “But I did have the weirdest dream on the plane.” 

“Yeah,” she said. “I have some time to waste. What was it?” 

“Well, I was sitting in a bar with this woman.” 

“There’s a surprise,” she said. “That’s not a dream, that was probably last night.” 

“Just wait,” he said. “She had my campaign plan, and we were going over it. And it turns out it was a karaoke bar. She looks at me and slams the prospectus shut and says I’m going to sing.”

“Sounds like your dream girl,” she said. “A political fawn and a karaoke rat. Was she cute?” 

“That’s just it,” he said. “She was really, well, let’s say she wasn’t a looker.” 

“You’re such fucking misogynist.” 

“You asked.” 

“Whatever.” 

“But she changed,” he said. “She got up and started singing the most amazing version of Righteously I’ve ever heard.” 

“You mean Lucinda Williams’ song?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “But if she heard this girl sing this song, she’d jump off a bridge. This girl just sang the song like I’ve never heard it before, way sexier than Lucinda.”  

“Ok,” she said. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to your wet dreams.” 

“But you’re in the dream.” 

“How?”

“So, you show up, open the bar door and all this light shines through from behind you, like Our Lady of Guadalupe or something,” he said. “You look at me and say, ‘You forgot something,’ and you throw a beer bottle at me and then walk out.” 

“I hope I hit you.” 

“You missed,” he said. “But I followed you out, but then I was on this green hill somewhere in New Mexico. And grandpa was there, looking at me.” 

“Grandpa? Where’d I go?” 

“You were gone,” he said. “But it’s like you led me to him, and he was there with sunglasses, a hat, and a short sleeve shirt and slacks. It was weird, like a Mormon diorama or something and then he talked.” 

“Jesus,” she said. “You’re dragging this out. What did he say?” 

“’All of this’, he said, and he gestured toward the valley, the Rio Grande Valley and he said something like, ‘this is the fatherland, from Truchas Peak, to Cerro Pedernal, to the Sandias.’ And this was cool, we were like flying above it, or floating above it.” 

“Have you been smoking pot?” 

“No,” he said. “I figured you’d love this dream. Then it was like the solar system was right in the valley, like the middle was somewhere around Santa Fe and everything was revolving around it.” 

“I think you’re mocking me now,” she said.

“What?” 

“It sounds like you were reading Scipio’s Dream.” 

“What’s that? I don’t remember it.” 

“You’re so stupid,” she said. “Maybe grandpa really is talking to you.” 

“Jesus,” he said. “You can be such a…” he stopped. 

“What else did he say?” 

“Something like, ‘use the soul you were given for the highest ends. Use your genius, courage, and talents for the right reasons and then your soul will arrive here sooner or faster. Something like that.” 

There was silence. 

“I think running for office is a mistake,” she said. 

“What?” he said. “I was sort of thinking this dream was, well, validation. At least from some part of my own brain. I thought it was a good sign.” 

There was silence on the phone. The speaker announced another flight departing. 

“This is the final boarding call for our flight to Dubuque.” 

“Anyway, that’s why I was wasting your precious time on my stupid dream.” 

“I think what’s he’s saying is come home,” she said. “That woman in the dream is a siren, Ulysses.” 

“God,” he said. “I hated that book.” 

Things got quiet again. 

“Final boarding call for Dubuque, Iowa at gate B11, final call.” 

“Fuck my stuff,” he said. “When do we find out about the letter?” 

“We?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Ok, you, when do you find out about the Sistaca letter?” 

“God, you can be so sensitive,” she said. “Next week.” 

“How does it look?” 

“Good,” she said. “I’d actually like it if you were here. If we were all here. I’d like to explain it to you both.” 

“Alright,” he said. “So, who’s the fucking siren now?” 

“What?” 

“I’ll fly from here to Albuquerque.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I can sleep on the couch.” 

“You can sleep in my bed,” she said. “If you play me John Coltrane.” 

“I’ll call you back,” he said. “I’m going to go change my flight.”