Two small fires burn in the dead of night. The twinkling lights below them are like reflections of the stars above. Soft jazz rises with the wind from a late-night club.
"We should go in, dear."
"Just another hour or so."
"Gasp. But it is already after one-am and the wind bites, dear."
There is a long pause. She stares at him, and his attention remains with the clouds passing by the stars like ships.
"The wind always bites you and there is no use for time other than for getting strangled by it. I will remain here as long as time remains. And so will you." She gasps again, unappreciative of his manner of speaking. She stomps inside, pulling her shawl around her as tight as she can as if it will protect her from his statement. He doesn't pay any mind to her mutterings or to the slam of the balcony door sliding shut.
Even though she left, he still feels her presence in the seat beside him. Some things can never really go away. There is not enough time in a singular life to heal or to forget completely. There are things that will stay with you forever. There are people who you may feel stuck with, and they may feel stuck with you. Endless sounds swirl around us and go up into the air as plumes of smoke. Yet none of it ever really goes away.
No, nothing ever really goes away. It all moves around, from one place to another. In one form and then a different one.
It doesn't change a thing to him, for instance, that he sits here in the cool night air when he knows that it will compromise his heart. The doctor said the damage from his latest heart attack was irreversibly severe; will he preserve two minutes of his life by going inside now?
No, it doesn't change anything knowing that his wife is turning in their bedsheets dreading the day her own precious life ceases. If he were a woman, dependent on her man, he would be terribly restless too knowing that he will not be there for her to lean on anymore.
He wonders what life has been like in that way for their wonderfully independent son; does he too feel the pressure of providing for his partner? Does he sink below the surface at times just trying to make ends meet so she won't have to worry? He imagines it is not the same as it was for him as a young man. Afterall, he can leave his woman at any time if he felt the need and society would not bat an eye; but he did not raise him to be that way.
There is no way to tell where things may go. A deep passion can turn into childish dreams like a partially chewed apple turns and rots over time. Sweet love fades like the polaroid posted on your windowsill. Bullies and ex-lovers become lovers and influencers.
You can lay down your most concrete plans, you can take an oath, and you can pledge your loyalty to the idol of your choosing; but your control is a thin mist. You will only succeed if you accept the inevitable changes that will climb out of the bushes onto your path.
The old man breathes in the longest breath. Applause resounds from the jazz club below. He releases slowly as a ghost whispers by. His body becomes light as a feather- he thinks he may be floating away. He glances at the balcony door. His wife is returning with her little tea tray. He musters all of his strength to lift his palm to her in warning. He begins to stand but decides it would be better not to. His sweater slips off on one side. His chest rises and crashes hard and slow.
This old machine was supposed to live forever, he promised his son when he was young. This was not the day the doctor warned him for. He was sure that he would hold his wife in bed at least once more.
"A-a-a-a-a-a-ah!" The inhuman shrill silenced the city. The only other sound; the shattering glass of hibiscus tea meeting the floor.