All The Bright Places Contest Entry 2015
The bright place that has most inspired me in life is paradoxically many yet one: with the people I love.
“They’re at it again.”
“Like clockwork eh?”
I tip my beer and smile. “Like clockwork. Come, join me for the show. It’s about to begin.”
Devon is sitting at his desk surrounded by mountains of high-end recording equipment. Taking a drag from his cigarette he ambles over the to the windowsill and takes a seat next to me on its generous ledge. Our view from his luxurious second story downtown apartment in Vancouver grants us a perfect vantage point from which to watch the city’s nighttime animals tear each other apart.
“The brightly coloured fat one looks about ready to pounce.” Smoke trails behind my hand as I gesture at two members of the inebriated nightlife.
“Think he’ll win?” says Devon.
“Only because he’s to drunk to know he’s already lost,” I laugh, pausing to take a swig of my beer. The fight is swift and fierce, and as with most real violence—lacking skill and over quickly. “Damn it.” I stub out my cigarette. “Bright colours in the wild usually indicate danger.”
Devon nods slowly. “So we gonna finish this tonight?”
“Of course.” I jump up. “Where are we?”
“The first verse,” Devon chuckles while taking his seat again and putting on one ear of his studio headphones.
I slap him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna change the world right?”
Sprawled on the leather sofa Lloyd steeples his fingers. “And why are they afraid of the rain?”
“It’s acid rain,” I answer quickly.
“And it’s acidic, why?”
“Because we destroyed the Earth’s atmosphere.”
Late day light pours through the slatted blinds of the studio apartment, brightening the opposite wall’s red to a crimson glow. A half eaten loaf of bread, (Lloyd’s baking) sits between us, along with a wisely chosen cheap bottle of red, (Lloyd’s purchasing). I break off a hunk of the fennel encrusted herbaceous loaf before leaning back in my weathered leather computer chair.
“The new society of course doesn’t know that,” I add while munching on the bread.
“I see, and you’re thinking they evolve a religion around this?” Lloyd leans forward to pour out the last four fingers of wine in our two glasses. He gives the empty bottle a rueful look before returning it to the table.
“That’s right, now keep going,” I say with a grin. “With your questions it writes itself.”
We both lie silent. A tangle of tired limbs and restive smiles. From the window I can hear the breeze. It blows just so, rustling the leaves and vines on trees nearby. Amidst strands of raven black hair, nestling my nose into the honey brown of Cristina’s exposed neck, I make contented sounds. I can feel her smiling. From upstairs the clatter of cookware and pleasant muffled chatter just barely reaches our ears. We’ll return to the mainland soon. The vacation at my old friend’s home draws to a close. I think of the days and all we have done: wonderful meals enjoyed together by those in attendance, fishing, wake-boarding. Cristina got up her first time out, That’s rare, I think. She rolls over to face me, her foreign dark eyes sparkling.
“Why are you laughing?” she demands playfully in the accented tone I’ve grown to love.
“Because … I’m happy.”