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These City Lights

By Rachel M.J

By Rachel M.JPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 10 min read
9

We used to watch those city lights flicker on and off like fireflies. Asking silly questions like, “who do you think lives in that building over there?” or “how many people across the lake do you think are playing World of Warcraft right now? Or having sex?”

We found this spot not by choice but serendipity. I hope that you’ll find it again that way. We can build a new life in a small country-town, where the peaches grow on tree-lined streets. We always thought we’d end up in the big city, but… I can’t anymore.

I know you’ll understand why,

after I tell you about the man with the watch

BEFORE

“No, not like that” – Wren swipes the hammer from my unsteady hands.

“Like this” she says, demonstrating the apparent precision that is required to chip a hole in a roof. I throw up my hands in exasperation.

"You do it then" I say, brushing grime off my jeans, "it's better when you do it." Wren has fashioned holes like fish scales into the roof of the old movie-theatre. Sunlight filters through them, creating shafts that hit the sprouting greenery below. It was my idea to turn theatre one into a greenhouse, but Wren's the one with the artistic talents.

I have little patience for Wren when she's working, and she has little patience for me when I do things 'wrong', so I make my way down the ladder,

"Need anything?" I call.

She's silent for a moment, before calling out a muffled, "no thanks."

-

Julian leans against the theatre entrance, “kicked off the roof again?” he asks.

I drag my feet along the carpet, “apparently I don’t have the 'technique'.” He purses his lips in what looks to be the suppression of smile, so I thump him on the shoulder as I pass.

“We’re going out to the houses in a few” he says to me, “Alex wants to find decorations for the garden.”

“Sounds good,” I say over my shoulder.

Alex is the only one Wren will tolerate on the roof for more than a few minutes. You'd like him, and Julian too. They're infinitely kind, but it's not just that. You have a lot to thank them for -

-

The trek to the houses is short. Our theatre sits on the main street - it's the one we used to visit every weekend - but now it's my home, nestled between a consignment store and a run-down coffee-shop. Houses line every corner we turn, but Wren and Alex sprint ahead as if a meander is a waste of their time. As Julian and I pass the consignment store I point to a pair of boots,

"What do you think of those?" I ask him.

“Not really my style,” he smirks.

The consignment store window still glitters with ornately dressed mannequins. I'd always thought that one day I'd have enough money to waltz in there and leave with a Dolce and Gabbana dress. Weird to think that I could leave now with whatever I like and have it mean absolutely nothing.

"Do you think anyone would care if I stole them?" I ask.

"Is it really stealing anymore?" He's right. No one's coming to claim them.

Julian gestures ahead, "look."

Alex and Wren are climbing down the stairs of a modern Queenslander. Wren cradles a wreath of sea-shells, and Alex almost misses a step, because he's inspecting the gold of a Tudor watch dangling from his fingers.

“Found it in a nightstand” he says, grinning as he approaches.

I gasp, "it's beautiful."

Julian nods as I help Alex secure it round his wrist, "it suits you" he comments.

-

Julian might regret telling him that, because Alex hasn't taken off the watch for five days.

"Do you take it off in the shower?" Wren asks him.

"Wouldn't you like to know" he quips, causing Julian to blush.

"You're going to grow mould round that thing if you don't take it off" I tease, searching the crevices for signs of grime. It is a nice watch. I fumble for the locket that I wear around my neck. I haven't taken it off since you left. Alex offers me a sympathetic smile, but he has nothing to be sorry for. We've all lost people.

"I'm heading to bed" I say to them, sliding my thumb across the cool metal.

As I peek over my should I notice Alex offer his wrist to Julian. He holds it, inspecting the watch, but from the way his gaze flitters upwards and meets with Alex's I can tell it's more than just curiosity over the trinket.

-

I climb to the lighting box where I've set up a bed and I dangle my necklace like a pendulum, swaying it back and forth. It had been a gift to you on our last valentines. I'd hung it from a bridge overlooking the city - the place we used to go to finish our popcorn after watching a movie. You wept like a child when I showed you.

Two months later and it was me who was crying as you pulled the locket from your coat. It was a pendant now, because you'd hung it from a pale-gold chain.

You draped the chain around my neck and let the heart fall to my chest.

"Re-gifting is rude you know."

"I know" you said, "but I wanted you to wear it."

I caught your meaning. I knew that you were leaving soon, and if this was the only piece of you that I could keep I wanted nothing more than to hold it close.

-

The next morning Julian catches me on my way to the kitchen. He wears a small grin, which means he's up to something.

"What?" I whisper.

"You won't believe what I found", his eyes are bright, which gives him an air on lunacy. I raise my eyebrows.

"A huge garden" he says, "it's just down the road, I don't know how we missed it."

I cover my mouth, "Wren will be so excited!"

"Why will I be excited?" Wren walks out of the kitchen holding a steaming cup of coffee.

"It's a surprise" Julian says.

"What's a surprise?" Alex calls from the hallway.

"Nothing!" I yell back, "Just a few bromeliads in one of those fancy gardens we walked past."

Wren nods, her nose dipping in and out of her coffee mug, "sounds good" she says. "How many?"

Julian interrupts, "One or two."

"Well, that's not a good surprise" she says pointedly to him, "but thank you."

-

As we prepare to leave Julian encourages Wren to go ahead without us. We take longer than usual to prepare, so she leaves in a huff, inpatient.

"It's the house with the blue door on Ann street!" I call as she's exists the theatre.

"Yep!" She shouts back.

Alex wheels in two rusty wheelbarrows. When his watch ticks over to 9am - giving Wren a small head start - he shouts, "let's go" and shoots through the theatre doors, like a gust of wind.

"Alex!" I yell, shaking my head.

Julian laughs, "I don't know where he gets his energy from."

-

When we find the garden Alex has already uprooted the plants and stacked them in his wheelbarrow. He beacons me over and fills the second with an additional dozen. He chuckles to himself as we wheel our way through the streets looking for Wren.

"This will be enough to finish her garden," he says cheerily.

"You'll have to help her plant them," Julian says, eying the haul.

"Me? Why don't you guys help-"

"She won't let us" we retort in unison, causing Alex to burst into raucous laughter.

We find Wren as she's struggling to carry a large potted-plant across the parkland. When she spots us with the wheelbarrows she drops the pot, causing it to shatter on the ground. We pause, then cackle at her stunned expression. She runs to us, eyes shining with glee.

“I present to you, Malady, your garden.” Alex brandishes his arms in a show of exaggerated splendour. As he does the gold of his watch glistens in the afternoon sun, casting a light across the opening and into the trees.

He seems to freeze in the position... one arm splayed in a curtsy, and the other like a swans broken neck. I don't quite understand what I'm seeing, until I see the blood pool and Alex tumble to his knees, falling face down into the grass.

Julian screams.

The sound is muffled in my ears, and my blurry vision has only moments to recover as Wren shakes me by the shoulders, yelling something I can't quite hear. There are tall figures concealing themselves in the forest. I'm confused, and we're running now and I don't know what from - or who to.

I don’t want to talk about the rest.

AFTER

I sat in bed for three days afterwards. I wanted to stay forever, but Wren said we had to be strong for Julian. So it's been three weeks, and I carry a steaming pot of herbed-tea to where Julian lies with swollen eyes, under the light-box.

He's nestling the watch in a calloused hand, running a thumb over the smooth surface. He doesn't wear it, but I know he falls asleep counting the seconds as they tick over to midnight.

I wait for him to say what he's been wanting to for weeks.

"It was the watch."

I nod.

"The sun."

I nod again.

"The gold...they wouldn't have found us otherwise."

Wren thinks it was the noise we'd been making. But from the way Julian stares into the watch's surface - with a battery of revulsion and care - I know he has the same flashbulb memory as I do. Shimmering gold reflected in sun, a single strobe sending signal through the clearing, marking a target.

I nod, and Julian's sobbing louder than I've ever heard him before. I huddle next to him and hold his head in the cradle of my arm. I glide my finger over the locket at my neck; gold.

I soothe Julian's hair, like I would a child's, and muffle a sob.

"Shhh..."

"Shhh..."

-

I pack a bag once Julian's asleep. It's almost dawn, and I share a silent nod with Wren as I leave the theatre.

"Be careful," she tells me.

"I will."

I walk past the consignment store and curve my way through the city streets.

The street I turn down used to light up every Christmas. You used to pretend to be annoyed when I dragged you along every year, but I saw how the lights reflected in your eyes. We would stop by extravagant houses to see trees down dark hallways, topped with angels instead of stars.

"Do you think it's only rich people that put angels on their trees?"

You cast me a bemused look, "I don't think it makes a difference," and you reached for my hand.

I wonder if we looked odd to the people inside. Two young people spying through windows on a cold night, to catch a glimpse of the riches we didn't have. We must have looked like matchstick sellers - but we had nothing to sell except the fantasies we told each other.

-

I wait at the alleyway by the lake where we used to hang our locket. When I'm sure there's no movement, I approach the bridge, pulling out your old army-knife. I always thought that using it on flesh would repulse me. I know now that doing what you must throws repulsion to the doghouse.

I string the locket by its chain around a wire on the bridge. I hold the knife against the cold metal and find the grating to be worse than slicing through skin. I carve the words, "A Quiet Place" into its surface. It's the last movie we saw before everything changed.

I don't know if you're ever coming home, but if you do I hope you find this place by serendipity. We'll sit by the lake again and we'll watch these city lights flicker on and off like fireflies.

Sci Fi
9

About the Creator

Rachel M.J

Magical realist

I like to write about things behaving how they shouldn't ~

Instagram: Rachel M.J

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