Brad went inside, tracking in sand from the beach. Bending down to pick up a grain of sand by the entryway, he smelled a familiar scent – lavender – not understanding how the smell came in the house.

He recalled how Jen-Zen’s hair smelled like lavender and seaweed when she came in from the ocean. The lavender blossomed when they made love. He closed his eyes and saw purple all around, the purple fields, where the dreams still lived.

He thought.

No, don’t go there. You have clients and a Grandma whose days are limited. Stay in the moment, that’s what the self help book said. But, if I go back to the memories, maybe I’ll understand that Leanne was right that Jen-Zen was a stoner. What difference would that truth make? An answer, the self-help book said, is a step towards closure, towards letting go. But I don’t want to. Damn it! Just try and remember.

I promise it’ll be the last time for a while, then I’ll go visit Grandma and get her something real nice, but first I need to see Jen-Zen.

He opened his eyes and swept the sand into a pile and stared at it. Insight came: to know the sand is to know Jen-Zen.

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