It was nothing like a dream the second time the tires lifted, spinning above the hot tattered asphalt while the world shifted.

The stale, dusty day-old smell of weed smoke hung lightly in the air, tossed around by the deep rumble of tree-sifted, mountain fresh morning air. Damp milky fog lit up above the hood by two heavy yellow parallel beams obscured the tree-blanketed slopes and rocky outcroppings they framed, but we all squinted for them anyway as if to clear the path by sheer force of will. The air hadn’t quite emitted its late morning accumulation of moisture and stung us with thick, choking humidity, but we could all feel the heaviness pressing on our lungs. We’ve never been too old to love that pressing feeling, that perpetual sting of sweat. Not yet.

*****

The dreamlike fractals of memory that make up my childhood tingle with a warm spark. The memory of the first time isn’t like that. Cold and black as the night itself, the memory flickers with the dreary light of the night sky alongside sharp intermittent jabs of pained crimson.

The half moon glared down on my solemn face as I watched everything I had known for the past six years, my only six years, grow smaller and disappear around the bend in the dirty rear view. Dad smiled his big wide grin, reached a strong hand back towards me and tussled up my hair. He told me to look out at the stars as he drew his hand back to the steering wheel, his other letting go to press down something to his left. A rush and a pull of wind poured in at me as the glass window gave way to furious howls and the sweet scents of gasoline, pine needles and faintly tangy saltwater. I pulled my head out the window and twisted my body, letting the back of my neck rest on the space that had eaten the glass pane, my eyes pointed straight up to the endless sky. Dad fumbled around, reaching across to the glove box while I watched the black canvas with its pinpricks of white dots and the translucent, sweeping scar of the Milky Way curving overhead. As he lit a cigarette, his elbows holding the steering wheel steady, his eyes shifting from it to the road and back, he told me as he always did that each dot was a sun. A sun, just like our sun, and he asked me if it made me feel small. I said it did but it wasn’t true. Leaving home made me feel small, like the parts of me I knew, the parts that made me feel big were pulled out from underneath me. Watching the tiny sun at the end of his cigarette flicker and grin at me, flashing off of the shining edge of his silvery flask on the dash as he moved it to his mouth and back with the confident motions of someone ready for the new adventure while I was terrified, made me feel small. His tattered storybook shirt and weathered hands made me feel small. The stars made everything possible. They made me big and invincible so I kept watching.

A pressure on the back of my neck pushed my head up. I squirmed as the glass window lifted me, craning my head up at an awkward angle. I pulled myself free and as the wind cut out I heard Dad’s deep, bellowing laugh echoing through the car, nearly vibrating my seat. It twisted around my high-pitched shrieks of laughter in a dissonant symphony, and I scrambled across the backseat as he reached down again, cracking the far window with a deep earthy chuckle. The window snapped shut again before I could jam my fingers in the gap to pry my way to crisp thundering air and invincibility. I threw myself left and right as Dad shifted the buttons and the windows, me trying desperately to reach the open air and wheezing from exertion and wild gut laughter. Dad peered at me, his crooked white teeth shining bright as the moon in the mirror above him. He reached to open his flask and looked back at me again. His left hand rolled the wheel around like a clock, his right clutching the sparkling silver as we drifted past the head of a turn. He was about to say something when the flask, a book full of maps, bits of loose change and everything else jumped up, flew to the right and smashed against the passenger side window as the tires lifted and the world shifted.

*****

By the second time, we didn’t feel invincible anymore. Inevitable maybe, but not invincible. We knew too much for that. The rattling of empty beer cans and odor of smoke stained sweaters lingered around us as we sifted through thoughts, cataloguing the stories we would keep and the feelings we would soon forget. A harsh wind drew the fog away and I held my breath, scanning the steep slopes and meandering, winding bends of road ahead. I gripped the steering wheel and checked behind as they got into position, grass stained jean shorts and thrift store baseball caps shifting around in a flurry abstracted by the strained reflection I saw in Dad’s rusted silver. I set the flask upright in the center cup holder where it rattled against the bumpy road. As we rounded the first corner, the top-heavy van lurched and clattered, harmonizing the buzzing rattle of a broken speaker cover in the passenger door. Papery sounds of shifting luggage mixed with chatter and laughter as everyone fell to the side of the van, holding its edge down with the strong arm of gravity. The wind whistled past the windshield as I glanced back at the cacophony of bodies holding us down, and I called out as I pushed down into the next turn. Calls of bubbling laughter became cries as the papery sound turned to dry thuds, the world-worn flask jumped up and hit the roof, spewing acrid brown liquid across the dash, the tires lifted and the world shifted.

When I opened my eyes the bent remains of the flask glared at me, sunlight glancing off its side and into my eyes. I took one ragged, shallow tingling breath, and then I didn’t feel that heavy pushing feeling on my chest any longer.

A heavy yellow hue dripped from the streetlights, pouring down on the vast, endless plain white sheet rolling over the somber hills across the way

Snowflakes dipped and darted back and forth purposelessly, shifting in unison with the wanton needs of the wind

Barren trees held shade, leaving thin strips of earth, sheltered from the incoming downpour gently caressing the ground, scattered footprints the only sign of slowly fading life imprints

The path woven through the woodwork long abandoned as crystalline droplets of snow marred the distinction between explored and sacred, untouched territory

Newfound fluidity and even-spread blankness beckoned exploration, adventure, opportunities

Lucid, pattern-less drumming of falling ice, built up and reached to the once imperfect cobblestones made translucent, denied inconsistency by fresh, cloudy, ripe burning white, brimmed with the anticipation and hunger of newness

Drumming accented the muted, melancholic voice of the wind weaving through the heavy last limbed leaves

A changeling of instability that tore straight through you with it’s inhuman, insane kind of beginning, a soft touch of beautiful uncertainty as you traced your way back home

_____________________________________________________________________

The song hits in the stomach, little pangs of nostalgia, jabs of memory

The ashen sun falls slowly, burning the last of its oily luminescence outward, cascading softly across the barren, endless, hopeful, restless sand lines

The light leaves a cloud, a simmering afterglow you can’t quite cut through with your piercing headlights, the buzzing of unsettled air like a wild animal past your window

You look in through, past and into the approaching world through a grainy film screen and watch endless knots of tattered dirty greens spill past in screaming wisps and whispers

The next song starts as the sun vanishes, leaving echo of light, a ghost of hazy, wasted, gone forever daylight

And you realize how far you are from home.

“I’m not sure if it was harder to love her when I knew that I had to. And I know that’s not…” James felt the knot tying itself in his throat as they watched “…what I should say, or-I know you probably don’t think I did. But I did.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, i'm sorry.”

He stepped down, weighing heavy on each step and pushing his weakness past the rows to his left and right.

*****

He walked down the steps. The place was beaten down.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you're majorly spacing out there, dog.” Ty waved his hand in front of his face. “Mister big time lightweight over here. Let’s go.”

They passed by several doors, mostly apartments and not what they were looking for.

“Would it kill them to put a sign up?”

“You’re adorable.”

After a few minutes of searching, Ty dragged him down a corridor where presumably they were meant to go.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” A shadow called towards them from down the hall. “You looking for the show?”

“Yeah, this way?” Ty pointed past the voice. He was met with a nod. “Do we look that lost?”

Actually, out of place probably. Different kind. The source of the call, perched on a milk crate with a cigarette in hand, laughed heartily.

“Yeah. Have a good one, guys.”

“Cheers.” James followed as Ty brushed past and continued down the steps. They pushed through a door at the end of the hallway, faintly masking what noise James had mistakenly assumed was the band. They were two of maybe seven people in the room, all of them looking like they were meant to be there.

“Hey guys, you playing?” A tall, imposing figure stepped towards them.

“Hey, and, no. We’re-”

“Spectators,” Ty cut him off. “Are we early?”

“We were about to sound check, actually, so yeah. But it shouldn’t be too long. Grab a drink man. Thanks for coming out, should be a good one.”

“What’s cover?”

“Eh, don’t worry about it boys. Early bird.”

“Cool,” Ty stepped aside. “Told you,” he muttered at James

“Right, fuck me for thinking it would start at a decent time.”

“How about we listen to the guy who leaves his house next time. Bar.” James trailed behind him across the room and up to the counter.

*****

He imagined everyone else hearing the thudding, hollow sound of every footstep he took like he did. He took his seat.

“I know you did. You did.” He knew the voice, and the face. It didn’t matter.

*****

“So, what’s the count?”

James realized he had been staring at his feet. He looked up and froze, unable to look back down again. She had the most staggeringly brilliant red hair that cascaded down in a mess past her shoulders. She said something else, but it faded underneath the slight, purposeful movements her lips made. That feeling like he got punched in the gut. It must have been her eyes; they said something and refused to break contact to let him figure out what it was.

“Three.”

“Not quite enough” she said, as if she already knew what he was going to say. She giggled, and James looked back at Ty, proudly holding up four fingers. She pulled out two glasses, then leaned down behind the counter and produced two bottles.

“Either way,” she said, eyes darting between them, “not enough.” She twisted off both caps with a flick of her wrist and poured. She shot an implication-heavy glance over at the band as she did this, then pulled her gaze back straight through James. The corner of her mouth flickered up.

“You’re gonna want to be more drunk than this.”

*****

He struggled with his tie, pulling it haphazardly off his neck.

“It’s not right, is it?”

“What?”

“How…” He paused and thought for a moment. “She let me in. She didn’t need to bring me in.”

“Maybe she did.”

“Easy for her now. Fucking easy now. It’s not easy for me.”

“I know.”

*****

He was feeling it now. Loose, and a little off-center. He glanced back at Ty. He was talking to her. James wished he knew what they were saying, but the music was overpowering. She said something, and they both looked over at him. Like they didn’t know he knew, but he suspected Ty knew better. Or he was just overthinking everything again.

He shifted nervously. They’re acting like they aren’t talking about me, but they are. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her walk towards him. He pretended not to notice for a second, and then glanced over again. She was looking right at him. She leaned into his ear.

“Not bad, hey?” She practically yelled, but he just made it out over the music.

“Did-” The song ended abruptly. She looked at him expectantly. He fixed his attention on the band deciding what to play next. Sporadic applause gave way to an awful, puttering silence as the guitars were tuned. After a lifetime they started up again, and he turned back to her.

“What’s your name?” she called out.

“James.”

“James,” she repeated. “Nice. Suits you. You want another drink?” She pointed to the empty glass he was clutching with a death grip.

“Did he ask you to talk to me?” Her friendly smile faded slightly, then pulled back even wider.

“It’s possible.” She poked his shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re cute.” James swallowed back nerves, or possible nausea.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Yeah I do?”

“Yeah to the drink.” She grinned and prodded at him with her index finger again.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

*****

“Come on, let’s go home. You don’t need this right now.”

“I’d rather not.”

“What do you want?” Good question. A lot more than I can tell you.

“A drink.” He forced a weak smile.

“Right. But I thought…” James looked at him inquisitively. “You know what, nothing. Never mind.”

“Special occasion.”

*****

The room was beginning to empty out. James, slowly as he could manage, walked over to the bar. He looked over at Ty, who just nodded and motioned him forward. He shuffled, then swallowed and stepped forward with loose confidence, shifting back and forth the rock in his stomach.

“Hey stranger.” She only briefly looked up from wrapping an instrument cable around her forearm. “What did you think?”

“Not really my kind of stuff, but they’re fun to watch. It was cool.”

“Must have been, I almost saw you enjoying yourself once.” At this she contorted her defined features sharply in a laugh-stifling grimace. James said nothing. She leaned forward and touched his shoulder gently.

“Hey, relax,” she said through a tight grin, drawing out her words laboriously. She drew back and resumed her work. “Always nice to see some new faces around here. It’s always the same people. Makes it hard to, you know, run a business or…whatever.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?”

“Good question. Not really.” At this James couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, are you, uh, doing-” he paused, and then bit down on his hesitation to continue.

“Doing anything after this?” she jumped in, tearing the words right out of his mouth.

“Yeah. To like, did you want to maybe grab a drink or something?”

She tossed the now fully wrapped cable in a box beside the stage with exaggerated effort.

“Sorry, the theatre’s gotta be cleaned and closed. No-can-do, my friend.” She wiped non-existent sweat off her brow. James looked away for a second, then directly back at her.

“Okay, no problem. Next time.” He had only begun to turn when she started to laugh. A little more than necessary, he figured.

“Hey, hey-” she called to him, “it’s no fun if you don’t persist-uh...”

At this Ty, previously staking out the conversation in the shadowy corner by the bar, made himself known.

“James,” he declared.

“James” she repeated towards Ty, as though she had remembered herself and didn’t need his interjection. “Amber Madison,” she said, turning back to James. “I’m all through with drinking tonight, but I’m down for a midnight walk or something fun. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll be out front.” He turned, and then spun back and added, “I didn’t really want to drink either. It’s just harder to ask your... y’know, that.”

She beamed. “Understandable. I do appreciate your candor.”

“We’ll see you out front,” Ty interjected again, and grabbed James’ arm to whisk him out the door.

“And you can go fuck off, Ty!” She yelled out to a skipping and whooping Ty, dragging James out the venue exit.

*****

He slid the glass from hand to hand, watching the two ice cubes bounce off each other over and over, spinning around each coarse edge and chip. Little drops of liquid sputtered in tiny flurries over the rim and he swept across them with his wrist. Back and forth, back and forth. He shifted from side to side along with it; the hypnotic rhythm almost felt like it could catch and throw him out of his seat. He would let it happen, and let the floor course correct his tampered equilibrium. Just then he would have let himself fall, but he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, lighten up, squeeze again and release.

*****

“So?”

She had stopped, and he had passed her. James turned to meet her eye line.

“I-sorry, what?” She looked dismayed, but skipped over to him. James turned again, matched her rhythm with a little effort and they continued forward. The path spiralled down off the road, and James traced it as it rolled down several small hills and lined the edge of the canal. From their vantage point, it almost seemed to spill over into the channel; the very one the whole town seemed to expand out from. A warm current of humidity-laced wind floated up from the channel and tossed Amber’s hair back from her face.

“Did you want to phone a friend?” She let out a curt laugh and immediately waved this off the moment she said it. James didn’t respond. She raised her hands defensively.

“Sorry. I said, what’s your thing?”

“Meaning?” They turned in unison and started downwards towards the water.

“Standard interview question, critical thinking.” She grinned, again stupefied by her own wit. “Like, I don’t know. Everyone’s got a thing right? Like playing guitar or writing or baking or something. Just, your thing? What’s your big thing you do?”

“Not sure if I have one. Maybe half a thing.” He looked over, expecting acknowledgement, but her face held straight. No wit.

“I guess…” he tried for a moment to look like he was thinking, before actually thinking about it. “It fluctuates a bit. I used to play music.”

“Drums?”

“Guitar.”

“You look more like a drummer.”

“Well, if it helps you sleep at night, then sure, I played drums. But yeah, I don’t know, I got into drawing and then…”

“And then?”

He glanced over. She exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the water. She didn’t look back but he could tell she was listening.

“I don’t know, I guess I just lose interest in things really fast. Like I get into something and then get distracted by the prospect of doing something else, and it doesn’t live up to what I wanted and-rinse and repeat. You get tired of getting used to disappointment.”

At this she did look over, her face downcast by the streetlamp shadows but still the brightest thing in his vicinity. He shuddered at himself; the one person who would listen and he gave her his sob story.

“Yeah?” She studied him with intrigue rather than pity. He let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t think I’ve told anyone that before.”

“Has anyone ever asked?”

“I guess not.” He considered this for a moment. “No.”

She stopped. They had come to a small boardwalk lookout raised a few feet above the water. She threw her arms forward onto the railing and leaned over, peering down at the gently passing current. He joined next to her, so close that his elbow was only inches from her left arm. He couldn’t help but stare at her; her scarlet hair cascading in twisted and contorted rapids downward, spilling off her shoulders. Clusters of freckles outlined the space between her earlobe and the corner of her eye. She stayed facing ahead, as if she didn’t notice, but James caught the erratic motion of her eyes darting sideways and back, stealing peripheral glances. He made himself quit it and focused on whatever captivated her below the boardwalk.

“What about you, what’s yours?” She said nothing for a brief moment, then gracefully and swiftly turned jumped up and sat on the railing, sliding over to face him. “The venue?”

“Not particularly. Wouldn’t stake my name on the music thing, necessarily. I actually don’t really like concerts that much. It’s just fun. Meet lots of interesting people.”

James couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“What?” She looked genuinely offended.

“I can tell.” He was bold enough to delicately touch her arm.

“Is that so?”

“…You don’t know how to wrap an instrument cable.”

“Oh fuck off! What?”

“You don’t need this,” he ran his fingers across his forearm. “There’s a real specific way you actually do it.”

“Actually do it. Right. You know, I didn’t act all nice and bring you to this lovely spot just to get personally attacked.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder twice on each of the last two words.

“Maybe no one ever told you because you’re too pretty. Intimidating.” Her face twisted up, but a smile crept up the corner of her mouth.

“Cute. Maybe sexist. I’m sure I’m a fan of where this conversation is headed.”

“The truth hurts.”

“I can’t handle the truth!” She exclaimed, and followed with a look of disappointment when he didn’t react. “It’s from a movie.”

“I know.” James turned back to the water. She inched closer to him and suddenly reached up, tossing his hair around into a tangled mess.

“What fun you are.”

“Man, I must have seen this canal a thousand times and never been to this place before.” He rapped his knuckles twice on the wood railing with one hand, fixing his hair with the other.

“Well, you gotta get out of here sometime,” she said, dropping back to her feet and leaning in. She wrapped her fingers over his shoulder with one hand, and touched the very center of his forehead with the other.

“Meaning?”

She backed up half a step, but still held his shoulder, close enough for him to almost feel her breath.

“Not that I know, or have any right to cast my judgments on you, but you seem like you just space out sometimes. Like you’re totally somewhere else in your head.”

“Did Ty tell you that?” She looked at him like this should have been obvious. “Right.”

“No offense. It’s just-”

“No, you’re right. It’s a weird thing. You don’t get that? Lost in your thoughts?”

“Of course not,” she said through a smug grin, “I’m not smart enough to think thoughts that are captivating enough to get lost in. I’m no James.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. But at least I’m where I am when I’m there.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Observe.”

She pulled her hand from his shoulder. She crossed her arms at her waist and pulled her shirt up over her head effortlessly. James took a shocked step backwards. She held her shirt at her chest for a moment, and then tossed it a few feet away, revealing a lacy black bra. She undid her belt and shimmied her way out of her jeans.

“I-uh-um-I” he babbled. She gave him an exaggerated curtsy, then turned and vaulted herself over the railing. James slapped his hands on the railing and poked his head over. She disappeared into the black for a moment, then her head broke through the surface and she backstroked a few feet further out from the boardwalk.

“The water’s lovely!” she shouted, and tossed her hair back.

“Fucking-”

She splashed up at him.

“Come on! Live a little!” He weighed his options momentarily. “I’ll let you call it a date if you come in!”

He went to say something, then didn’t. Grimacing mostly for effect, he shrugged and started to strip down. She laughed and clapped at him.

“Don’t push it.”

“You can’t handle the truth of how nice this water is right now.”

He pulled himself up onto the railing and jumped. Cold hit him like a bag of bricks.

“Amazing,” she simply said when he surfaced.

“That was so much worse than I thought,” he said, but was smiling in spite of himself.

“But was it also so much better than you could have ever hoped and dreamed?”

She took a few long, strong strokes and maneuvered herself right up to him. This time he really could feel her breath on his face.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

She grabbed onto him, pulled herself in closer and kissed him.

“My god, I am so fucking cold,” she said as she pulled back. She laughed sharply and shivered. “What a price to pay for living your best life.”

They navigated around the boardwalk to shore and ran over to their clothes. She picked them up, not bothering to throw them back on.

“Come on, I’m just over the hill there. Five minutes max.” She pointed to a string of high windows, a few lit up but mostly dark.

“I…”

“If you’d prefer to freeze here, be my guest.” She grabbed him around the waist with both arms and practically tossed him in the direction she had pointed out.

“Okay okay okay.”

He slipped back into his clothes and they proceeded forward.

“A Few Good Men,” he mentioned offhandedly after a moment.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the movie. ‘You can’t handle the truth.’”

“My goodness James, we’ve found it! A film connoisseur.”

“Does that count if I’m just filled with unnecessary knowledge?”

“You might just be the greatest film encyclopedia the world has ever known.”

She threw her arm over his shoulder as they crossed the top of the hill and started down the road.

*****

“I could’ve been anyone.”

The four o’clock light was fading; he watched as it caught itself up in the dusty, hazy stripes of the blinds on its way to evening. It ran across Ty’s face and cut across both eyes, staring straight ahead in a weary emptiness James hadn’t seen before. He said nothing.

“All that stuff we did, just fucking hazy bullshit memories. Why can I…why can I only remember the good parts? Why can’t I remember that she hurt me? That she is, right now?”

“Why do you want to?”

“Because she did. That’s real. She used me, for what? For her stupid fucking legacy. Her fucking legacy. Thanks for the introduction by the way.”

Ty stood up, still withholding eye contact. He dropped a twenty on the bar, weaved his bag out from under the armrest and turned.

“Where are you fucking going?” James blurted out, bringing down two fists on the countertop. A dull thud resounded weakly.

*****

“ANYTHING!” Amber nearly tripped over her own feet, twisting and almost tumbling into the empty street. She pointed to him before he could ask.

“God damn I feel like I could…” she pulled in a deep breath, leaning back as she did as if the force threw her whole body off-kilter, and eased the air out in a sigh, “…just do anything right now.”

James just watched. A middle-aged couple came around the corner the bar sat on, and Amber beamed at them. She waved eagerly, and pirouetted on the double yellow lines before she could catch a response.

“Okay, okay crazy, come on.” He took a step towards her, ignoring the nagging of the oncoming spins. “Oooo-kay.” She leapt forward into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Spinning on his heel, James caught and spun her around. She kissed him on the cheek, then on the lips, and pulled back. Her fingers slid back from his sides and she clutched his hands.

“Let’s go home.” She said, barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t want to go back?”

“No,” she nodded her head towards the bar. “Fuck ’em. Why would I waste my time? I know exactly what I want.” She squeezed his hands. James laughed and started down the road, pulling her with him.

“You’re on to something.”

“I will be,” she said, slapping his rear with an open hand. James jumped. Her silly grin suddenly faded. “What do you want?”

“What’s that?” He placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her in closer.

“What do you want right now? What do you want to do?” James thought about this for a second.

“I don’t really know. I’m pretty content with just this,” he squeezed her into himself and reached his other arm over to run his hand through her hair.

“No fun,” she said, uncharacteristically blank. She squirmed and pulled her arm free of him, dove into her purse and pulled out a joint and a lighter. She stopped to torch the end, then resumed forward.

“No good story ever started with-” She drew in smoke through thinly parted lips, held for several seconds, and slowly let the smoke dribble out from the corners of her mouth.

“…With someone being content with where they are.”

“I resent that.” She offered the twisting smoke trail over to him. He waved it off.

“Most of them have sore losers though.”

“Is that so?”

She said nothing. He considered this, and then took the joint from between her fingers. “This one ought to be no good then.”

At this she smiled. He took a good long hit and held it until a raw burning started to climb up from his chest through to his throat. He coughed it out harshly.

“God damn. I don’t think-man, it’s been a while.”

She beamed, her smile cutting right into him. James bit his lip. He may not have wanted anything, but in that moment he knew he would do anything for that look, or to feel that way she did. Or both.

“What, since high school when you were still fun?”

“Something like that, I’m sure.”

He passed it back, and she held it out in front of her. The hazy moonlit crimson swirl wavered in the slight breeze around her, tied around the whispering smoke. James thought to Blade Runner, Goodfellas, Casino. This was better.

“If I had asked fun high school James, what would he want to do?”

He thought back. Playing music. Cutting class with the guys to start a fire down at the trail behind the football field. The movie they made, recording over their voices on his laptop like a badly dubbed Godzilla movie. It almost felt like it couldn’t be the same lifetime. Distant and cloudy.

“Probably light a fire or something stupid,” he said as she handed the joint back to him.

“Well okay. Not that. But we could.”

James laughed. “We certainly could. Would definitely be something stupid.” He put his mouth to the joint, and inhaled slowly.

“It would have to be stupid. It has to be. Can’t know a good thing if you don’t do bad ones.”

James held up the finished, smoldering joint between his fingers as an example. He tossed it in front of him, crushing it under his shoe as he walked. Without warning, her face almost seemed to drain of its color; still beautiful but less bright, like single light went out inside her head. One of many.

“We have to do what we want. You know, like, like-” she grimaced, as if the words struggled against her mouth to escape, “like, I don’t know. That’s all we are. And we’re not here forever. You have to do everything.”

“Amber…”

“We’re just stories, you know. Everything that’s happened is just a story to whoever comes next. Or it doesn’t get remembered and it’s nothing. If no one remembers, it’s nothing and it’s just-”

She coughed harshly and exhaled.

“Amber, what are you talking about?”

She stopped to catch her breath. “Sorry.” He took her again by the small of her back and pulled her close.

“Do you think about that?” she asked.

James waited for more.

“That you’re part of a story? Yours, and some grand one, and everyone else’s? How many stories are you in that other people have told? You’re probably so many different people to so many people.”

“I think you’re probably in more than me.” James cut in.

“You’re in mine. And vice versa.” She giggled. “The temptress, and the boy who never smoked.”

“Special occasion.”

“Special occasion. Good chapter.”

*****

“I can’t listen to this,” Ty said over his shoulder, starting to walk away.

“What? That she knew?” James called after him.

Ty stopped.

“Because she did. You know what I found out? She fucking knew. Like, way back. Way before I met her, that-” he spun his index finger around in a circle, “that clock was already god damn running. And she bullshitted all of it. That happy-go-lucky fucking philosophical fucking bullshit was all bullshit. It was fake. She forced herself to be happy because she didn’t have time not to be. To be this-this-this muse or whatever the fuck.”

Ty turned. In one swift motion he rushed forward and clutched James by the shirt collar. He drew in a harsh, quick breath, then eased it out and let go. He leaned on the bar, his head sinking into his hands.

“You know what I would call that?” he mumbled into his palms. He stood back up slowly. “Desperation. And that’s a lot more real that whatever the fuck you’re doing-” he waved his arms around, “Here. Pretending she never fucking mattered to you.”

*****

James kicked his heels against the scuffed brick wall around the corner from the shop. His hands glowed with the warmth of his coffee against the brisk, sharp pangs of icy wind. He was anxious to get out of the cold, but at the same time was glad to be delaying the inevitable. Or what felt like the inevitable. It could be anything, but it was usually bad. On the tail end of this thought, he caught motion in his peripheral vision. He kicked off of the wall as Amber skipped around the corner, tossing an unopened carton of cigarettes absentmindedly from one hand to the other.

“I thought you quit,” he remarked as she reached him and they continued on their way.

“I did. Doctor’s orders.” James looked at her incredulously.

“So?”

“So, I’ve gone absolutely mad.”

“Pardon?”

Amber cracked open the carton and pulled out a single cigarette. She gave it a considered, long glance and then looked back over to James, twirling it hypnotically between her fingers.

“You know, my grandpa used to carry cigarettes everywhere he went. Hand rolled, too. He didn’t even smoke; he just had them in case anyone wanted to bum one. ‘A bum for a bum’ he would say. If someone was stupid enough to kill himself that way, he thought, good riddance, right? Save room for the rest of us. Mad Madison, they called him. My dad called the whole thing ‘going mad.’”

She waved the cigarette in front of his face.

“Sort of a family tradition.”

“How do you know all this?” James inquired.

“Why?” She asked, as though she had been challenged on this for the first time.

“Because it sounds very not true.”

“Excuse me?”

James smiled thinly.

“I dunno. It just sounds like, really contrived and cliché. Too good to be true maybe.”

Surprisingly, Amber laughed at this.

“That’s probably because I made it up.”

“Wow.” Amber reached over to grab hold of his hand. “Also, I’m fairly sure your grandpa’s generation didn’t even think smoking could be bad for you.”

“Yeah, but more importantly, I had you for a second there, didn’t I?”

“If that helps you sleep at night, then sure. Also, didn’t your grandpa died of lung cancer?”

A pointed gust of wind fell over them, and Amber reached into her purse. She drew out a toque and pulled it over her head. She tucked in the ends of her evenly cut, ear length hair and shivered.

“Well, yes, but as far as you’re concerned they might both be true. Now that it’s there.” She let go of his hand and tapped the side of his head. “It’s real though. Because I said it. Who are you to say it didn’t happen? Just as likely it did as didn’t.”

“How wonderfully cynical of you.”

“I’m allowed, am I not? Considering the circumstances?” He kissed her on the cheek lightly in lieu of a response.

“Besides, cynical is such an ugly word. I think it’s a great story, and even better since it’s not-maybe not true. Sort of a Kerouac-ian, On The Road kind of thing.”

“Have you read Kerouac?”

“No. Have you?”

“No.”

“Well then, as far as we’re concerned-”

“You’re a regular ol’ Jack,” he interrupted her, catching her thought before she had even started it.

“Besides, grandpa lived a short, beautiful and poetic life filled with meaningful cigarettes. At least according to me. He's living forever now. What more could you want?”

“Another twenty years, maybe?”

“Twenty boring, unromantic years. Done that already. Don’t need any more of those.”

“So are you telling me you weren’t always this…Kerouac-ian romantic-cynic genius I know?”

“Well you’ll just have to read my biography. Does it matter? If the whole thinks I am…”

“The whole world?”

“I have big plans.”

“To make up?”

“I resent that. But you get me.”

James smiled and let her take his hand again; they braced against the cold as she pulled him towards whatever bad news might lay ahead.

*****

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Maybe, just maybe, she wanted you to get the fuck out of your head and do something. Anything. Even if it was just caring for someone, or something. For once.”

*****

There was no real moonlight, and no real need. The impossibly white hues lighting up the archway across the front entrance of the building bathed James in an awful, anxious, fake glow. Like the set of a noir he never would have watched. Stakeouts are less fun when it’s routine. Looking out. Amidst the blinding white he caught motion, a glimmer and a flash. The glass door half opened, then swung open fully. He saw her step through and glance up at the overhead lights. She said something to the woman who had helped her with the door, before catching his eye line and hurrying over. She knocked once on his window and circled the car. He started the engine as she hopped in beside him.

“That sucks.” She was looking straight past him at the piercing artificial light above them.

“You’re telling me.”

She sighed and fell back heavily on the seat.

“Your place?” he asked. He put it in gear but stayed in place, looking over at her.

“No, come on. It’s been all day. That sucked.” She paused. “Anything else.”

“What do you want to do?”

“What I really want-” she said, reaching over to touch him lightly on the leg, “-is a double vodka tonic. And a tall, dark, handsome stranger on my arm.” She looked him up and down. “But 5’11 will do I guess.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a special occasion, love.”

“What’s that?”

She looked away, exasperated, then back at him.

“That I’m not there right now. For fucking once. And I just would love to do something stupid again.”

“I think the stupidest thing you can do right now is something stupid.”

“Oh fuck off.” She turned away. “Fuck.”

“Amber,” James drew out a long breath.

“Sorry. Just, can we go? Please?”

James nodded and hit the gas gently. He felt a touch of relief roll over him as they rode out of the awful illuminated parking lot into the empty, dark road. The moon was beginning to drift out from the clouds, and he looked over and saw Amber staring up through the windshield, as though willing it out fully. They drove in silence for ten minutes or so. As the moon finally showed it face overhead and cast the windshield full of warmth, Amber sat back again.

“It’s just…” she swallowed hard and ran her left hand through the knots in her hair,

“God, if I can’t have a fucking highball every once in a while when I want to, then obviously I’m not getting any better. This isn’t better.”

James reached over, one steady hand held on the wheel as the other wrapped around her forearm. He rubbed gently with his thumb, feeling the bone and the thin pricks of hair. He felt a rush of unease, an almost dizzy sensation at feeling how fragile she felt.

“You know I’m here for you right?” was all he could think to say. He cringed the instant he said it. It felt accusatory, and he had no right. The words burned in his mouth.

“Mmm. Here, then? Not here anymore?” She pulled out of his reach and tapped him once on the side of his head. “Did I fix you or something?”

He smiled at her. She flickered a touch of one. “Maybe. To be continued.”

*****

James didn’t think. He didn’t feel it. He just got up. He saw his nails dig into his palms as he fell forward, arm swinging wildly at his best friend. He didn’t feel it. But he felt the cold, dead crack of his head against the wood floor. He let himself shiver as the pain flooded in. His skull felt like it was expanding, as though his brain was pressing against its confines and begging to burst through. Ty shuffled around him and turned to leave.

“Maybe you could’ve been anyone, but what if she wanted to do something for you before she left. Do one last thing for a pathetic case like you.”

*****

“Almost?”

“Just give me another ten, okay?” James watched from the bed as her silhouette danced around the off-white door frame without any of the haste or purpose he was hoping for. He undid his cufflinks and hoisted himself off the tangled, un-complimentary blue and yellow bed sheets. He sauntered over to the doorframe, clasped a hand around the side and swung himself through the opening. Amber jumped slightly in surprise, but never looked over, fixated at the framed self-portrait in front of her. He caught her hand as she brushed harshly down on her curls; they frayed and split at the ends and came to rest on her shoulders. Gently, he eased the brush from her hand, pulling her waist to him as he began to run it softly down her wiry hair. She leaned back from the counter, sinking into him.

“What a fucking mess I’ve gotten myself into.”

She spun a split end around her index finger. James craned forward to catch a better look in the mirror, brushing her bangs from her face.

“A hot mess.” He felt her flinch as he clutched her tightly and let up, softly kissing her ear. “You look beautiful.”

“Yeah, well, you have to think that.”

“Does that make it not true?”

She shifted from left to right, examining herself in the mirror, and then turned to face him.

“Yes.”

He kissed her cheek and leaned back as she pulled his sleeves back to caress the inside of his wrists.

“You know,” she half-whispered, slowly reaching down to start to undo his belt, “not everyone likes pale skinny emo girls are much as you do.” She pulled him through the doorway, back towards the bed.

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” he said as she pushed him forward and kissed his neck. They dropped down heavily onto the bed.

“Amber-”

She stopped.

“We should go.”

“Should we?” she said coyly, rubbing his leg. He held her shoulders back at arms length.

“Come on.”

“Why? I have everything I need right here.”

“When was the last time you saw anyone else?”

She sighed, slouched and looked down at her feet.

“They don’t want to see me,” she said after a moment.

“Of course they do, everyone does. What are you talking about?”

“Not-” she stopped herself and stood up, brushing him off. She ambled over to the room’s only window and drew the curtains suddenly. Early evening light rushed in, and James shielded his eyes. She pointed to him. “Exactly.”

“What?”

She leaned in against the wall beneath the window and crumpled down to a sitting position, head in hands. James slid across the bed to her and leaned down to face her. After a minute of silence she looked up into his eyes, her own welling up.

“Not this me okay? Not this me. This…” she motioned to her frail, crouched form, “...this isn’t the story I wanted to be.”

Tears began to slip from the corners of her eyes, streaking down black through hastily applied eyeliner. James pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped both it and his arms around her. He felt the beginning of tears stinging in his eyes, and fought them off as he watched her bury her head into the fabric.

“Looks great with the blue, doesn’t it?” she said as he pulled it away from her face, revealing a weak smile.

“Yeah. I think your exact words were ‘Hey, maybe it’s a combination just quirky and dumb enough to trick people into thinking you’re a fun and interesting guy.’”

Amber snorted laughter at this.

“Oh my god. That doesn’t sound like me at all, you must be mistaking me for another lover.” He grinned down at her and squeezed her shoulder.

“You know, I had an English teacher once who told me the difference between short stories and novels.”

Amber said nothing, only brushed the tears from her cheeks and looked up intently at him.

“He said that short stories are about plot, and novels are about character.” He paused, waiting for some clever retort, but got nothing in return.

“What actually happens doesn’t matter. You told me that, in so many words. Who you are, that’s what lasts. You. You last. That’s your novel. And that’s my novel, and theirs. Everyone’s.”

“Best seller.” She loosened herself from him and stood up.

“Fucking New York Times, you better believe it.”

*****

Every step felt thunderous. James paced slowly towards the door he had been working up to for the past three days. No more excuses. He knocked five times, in that same rhythm he had beaten a thousand times, but not for years. Probably not since eighth grade. The door clicked and opened. Ty’s familiar chuckle preceded him as he came into view.

“That brings me back.”

“Just wanted to give you fair warning. In case-”

“What, in case you’re gonna take a run at me again? I can take you, trust me.” Ty grinned playfully. James looked down at his feet.

“I’m sorry man. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s a hard time.”

“No, it’s not okay. It’s just-” he struggled with the words he was trying to say. Ty only nodded.

“Its just-I’d rather it happened. I’d rather she happened than didn’t.”

“Even though it sucks.”

“Yeah. Even though it sucks.”

They stood in silence for a long time. Finally, a voice called from upstairs, beckoning Ty.

“Well, I should-”

“Yeah, for sure.” James shifted to leave, then stopped. He reached out and stopped the door before Ty could close it.

“You know, I don’t know if she was a good person. But I think she was important.”

Ty smiled softly, as though he had been waiting for this exact sentiment.

“I don’t know if you can be both necessarily.”

“Do you think she would have liked to hear that?”

“I think that would have been a better eulogy than whatever that was you did.”

James laughed. “Can you imagine?”

Ty smiled his toothy, ear-to-ear grin at him.

“See you man.”

He closed the door quietly. James stood there a moment, listening to the sound of Ty’s hurried footsteps bounding up the stairs. He turned away from the house and walked out from the driveway into the street. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a carton of smokes and a matchbox. He lit one, and let the tiny flame dip into a single dart; he stood still and watched as the smoke dripped skyward into the hazy orange glow of the streetlamp above him and disappeared. He dropped the box back into his pocket, tossed the cigarette on the ground, and stomped it out.

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful" Sara replied, not bothering to look up.

"You don't know the half of it" Matt retorted quietly, reaching out a long slim arm to touch her chin and lift her eyes up to his. In his other hand he was grasping the loose end of a piece of women's underwear; it was pressed firmly, and in a way alone to himself, suggestively against his chest.

"Wonderful." Sara said, shaking him off, "give me a minute, I’m just about done here."

"I can't-man-here" Matt tapped twice on his temples with the index finger of each hand "...fucking imagine why anyone would possibly spend this much money on this."

"What are you on about?" Sara inquired out of habit. Matt laid the undergarment down on the table, much to her dismay, and skipped a few steps over to a display. Beginning to fold and put it away, she watched Matt eagerly examine the nearest mannequin.

"Two hundred!" He nearly shouted. "Hundred."

“Tragic"

"Do you know how many movies I could go see with two hundred dollars?" Matt asked as if it were a rhetorical question and a concrete argument, neither of which Sara thought it was. "Or concerts...or, I mean, anything. An experience."

"Movies only last an hour and a half, Matthew." Sara shut the till and spun, starting to flick the switches to shut off the store lights. "Clothes are forever." She twitched a flirtatious smile out of the left corner of her lips and gently tipped off the last of the lights. Matt pressed his hand against his chest as though he had been shot, then spun on his heels and leapt towards the counter. Through the newly visible translucent light streaming in from the streetlights, Sara watched as he pulled himself up. He set himself cross-legged on the counter and motioned her towards him.

"Well, yes….but how long are you going to wear that?" He pinched the shoulder of her sweater, lifted it slightly and dropped it. "The films-honey-the films will be here forever." He pointed again to his temples. Sara slowly leaned in to kiss his forehead.

"It really is a work of art," she said, drawing back and untangling herself from the rough, strong hands now rubbing her shoulders and stepping gingerly around the countertop. She tapped the top of his head. "But one day you're gonna get old and sad and this won't work right, and you'll forget all these amazing movies."

"And then I'll die and you won't miss me, right? Lovely. On that note-" he spun on his ass, hopped down and started towards the door, "shall we?"

***********

Smoke sat heavy, drawing attention to the thin bands of lights pushing themselves through the off-white blinds. Sara lifted her hand to touch them and grabbed at a single rod of light. She twisted her fingers around it, taking hold of a small piece of the outside world. Then-floodlights.

"Fucking-must you?" She winced. "Can you turn it off?"

"Since you asked so nicely? Of course." The room snapped back in an instant. Matt sat down heavily on the bed beside her and flicked at his lighter. Sara watched as the small flame ate away at the end of his pipe and he pulled in smoke. Lying back, he held for a moment and then exhaled deeply. His strong right arm lay gently across his torso, and Sara watched as his chest slowly rose and fell back again. Not noticing her attention, he sat up suddenly.

***********

She felt gravity pulling and pushing in one consistent rhythm, at once drawing her closer into herself, and in the next moment threatening to tear her apart. She wanted to fall into her body and collapse.

"Do you want to fly?" It emanated in her, bouncing around her head, knocking her one way and another. Every possible light bore itself down into her. As if her eyes were expanding to see more than what was even there. She didn't hear the noise as much as she felt it pulsating in and out from her. Waves of energy rather than a radio transmission to her sensors. Falling forward. Her body. A wave of hands. She saw herself feeling it but didn't feel it. Then falling back.

***********

"Do you ever think about why we like the things we like?"

"God." Sara rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"You're so typical.” Sara smiled and touched his forehead.

"I mean it.

"What do you mean?" Matt leaned back slightly, still looking down at her.

"I mean exactly what I said. What is it about this you like?" The reverb-drenched drums of The Cure resounded low, the only frequency punching through the hiss of the air-conditioner and the noise from the street. "Why does it mean something to you? Like, what's enjoyable about it?" Sara laughed, exasperated, and ran her fingers over her forehead, as if searching for something. She sighed.

"It just sounds nice. I don't know-"

"What's nice about it?"

"His voice, I guess, and the drums, and-I just like it." She shrugged. "Can't I? Can't I just enjoy this?"

***********

For the first time, she considered a centre of gravity. An object-a sphere inside of her. She was spinning on its axis. Her eyes rolled back.

"Do you want to fly?" seemed to be the root of what had happened, and what was happening. It haunted her, the words could have come from anywhere, she didn't know. Right now they were coming from her own brain. Her own wiring. That which created the world she experienced had betrayed her into thinking that she made the thing that fucked with her. God. Damn. It.

The floor beneath her felt hollow when she hit it. Internally lifting off but trapped inside a vehicle that lay pinned beneath bodies. Moving bodies. Pulsating with human energy, frantic but by their own choice. She imagined herself as one of them, and them as her, perceiving from the outside. But she wasn't outside of it. Every layer of telling them what she experienced being in it, and knowing it wasn't true; thinking she was out of it but not, was added and stripped away like a feedback loop. Some looked at her, but she didn't see that they were. She felt it.

***********

"Yeah, but-" Matt shook his head. "I don't know, I’ve just been thinking about this a lot recently."

"Sounds dangerously like high school philosophy to me."

"It's just interesting. People say they like music because of how it makes them feel, or because it reminds them of a certain time in their lives. But, why do they feel like that? Why were they listening? Its just energy picked up by our ears and frequencies and whatever, right? There's nothing attached-it's nothing. There's nothing there. Why would we attach something to that? It's not really our nature, is it?" Sara nodded. She paused for a moment, mulling this over.

"I guess I get that. It's like preferring subtlety or good writing over just primal…whatever that hits you over the head with what you want. There’s not much stock in ‘clever’.”

"Yeah, I told you I’m not fucking crazy." Matt leaned over and kissed her.

"You actually didn't." She brushed him off and reached over to turn the music up. "But I get it."

***********

An O shaped fissure was forming in the back of her throat. Outside of its edges, she could not force out breath. Sharp and narrow was the air that came.

She reached out to the hand extending to her. She felt loose and limp, but squeezed her fingers together and was pulled up. A familiar face, but it looked different. Or felt different. Or she saw the same things, but felt them differently. She recognized the sound of her own name. Energy of concern, overshadowed by a thudding kick drum enveloping her ears, and the life energy exploding like fireworks out of the twisting, contorting bodies she was swimming in. She nodded, eyes wide, afraid that if she closed them she would miss something important. It all felt very important. She didn't want to miss anything. This was monumental. And she said she was okay.

***********

"I just think that maybe art and all that is a way we step out of ourselves and, I guess, see things from someone else's view. Or just a different one, to change our perspective. How else do you grow, right? But we don't really think about that when we're enjoying music or a movie. We just enjoy it. People don't think about that. It's interesting."

Sara tossed this around her head.

"Makes sense," she replied, "and that perspective shift is like an evolution. Like an unnatural-well, what’s natural I guess. I don't know, whatever. Does that make sense?"

"Who’s the philosopher now?"

Sara laughed and buried her head into his chest.

***********

The lights burned. They were something more than just visual stimuli. Were they there, physically, or a manifestation of the sensory experience her brain developed? A signal telling her synapses to fire? Sara tried to picture the atoms, the transference of energy in every part of the room, and the massive and vast ocean of energy she was a part of. All it was, the only thing any of it was. A trading of energy.

"Do you want to fly? He had said.

The realization snapped her back, punched her in the gut. The realization that it was all inside her, that she took it, but it enhanced what she made. The world she made inside her. It tasted like nothing, and it was nothing. It was just a catalyst. A boost. She was the alteration. Reality felt flimsy, her experience felt flimsy, but it reeked of her own making. A new realization. Then black. Then she was at home.

***********

"Did I tell you what happened last weekend?" Sara asked suddenly. Matt met her eye line, studying her hazy blues as though he hadn't stared into them a thousand times.

"Your friend called me. Whatshername-I got the gist."

"And?"

"Sounds like quite a time you had. She said you were fine, didn't really wanna get on your ass about it unless you wanted to tell me. So, whatever. Not my place."

"Thanks." She gazed off into the distance.

"What are you thinking about?" Matt asked after a moment. Sara looked back at him.

"I'm thinking that I'm afraid I liked it too much."