I open my eyes and realize the day drifted away. Touching the window’s glass, I feel the chill of winter brewing outside. Amber-colored leaves on the maple tree in the campus courtyard flutter toward Earth, and the September sun hangs low in the afternoon pink sky. It is as if everything is hesitating one last time before fading. Next to me, my boyfriend sleeps peacefully. I place my hand on his chest and feel his heart beating through his Garfield comforter, a remnant from his childhood. Smashing Pumpkins plays “Today” on the radio. I wish I could hit pause.
Thirty years ago, Sarah Smith took naps. Now, she's a doctor by day and a writer by night, married to that boyfriend.