VHS

[play]

Gravel crunches beneath the tyres

as the car edges out the parking lot.

The fuel tank needle signals half.

She looks at her passenger

head hanging out the window

biting at the wind.

Her ride or die.

She turns right onto the open highway.

Kilometres of yellow canola fields guide the way.

She glances in the rearview mirror

but doesn't find what she is looking for.

-

[rewind]

Empty bottles litter every surface.

Stale smoke pollutes the air.

The bass vibrates through the speakers

as beads of sweat drip down his neck.

Her arms draw tightly across her chest,

teeth aching from the set of her jaw.

There are no words left.

No more reasons.

His knee rattles.

The void expands.

Glass shatters against brick.

She touches the ring on her finger.

-

[pause]

An old analogue clock sits on the mantel.

Tick, tick, tick.

The laundry faucet drips.

Crumpled sheets on empty beds.

A soft glow leaks from beneath the door

and chases away the shadows.

Metal clangs on the cold white tiles.

Angry flesh throbbing where the darkness seeps out.

Black ooze drips down her thighs.

She can finally breathe.

Her glassy eyes sting, empty wells.

The ache at the centre of her chest, gone.

Time collapses in on itself.

The voices no longer scream.

The silence strangles.

The moment hangs.

-

[fast forward]

Heels clink against the pavement.

Her outstretched hand drags along the cobblestone wall.

Midday bells ring overhead.

A smile quirks the edges of her lips

as the bitter winter bites at her skin.

Wool overcoat pulled tighter

as she turns her face to overcast skies.

Warm fingers thread between her own.

The sprinkling of rain caresses her cheeks.

He holds the space like a man

who appreciates the tannins of aged port

and creases in the spines of antique books.

He doesn’t believe in fate

or magic.

But he believes in her.

-

[fast forward 2x]

Sunlight filters through the open window.

Ginger tea steams on the counter top.

One.

Two.

She watches him tending to the tomatoes.

Vibrant red and plentiful.

It will be their last season.

She is forgetting more now.

He closes his eyes, breathing deep.

She knows Sundays are his favourite.

He loves the French bakery

and wishes the blackberries had less thorns.

He is always patient.

Even when her mouth cannot remember the shape of his name.

How many cups of tea were there again?

One.

Two.

-

[stop]

[eject]

[insert previous tape]

-

The air hums.

Bees bumble from bloom to bloom.

Her small hands clasp together.

The magenta Dianthus stand tall around her knees.

“Not like that, sweetie, with your teeth.”

People glance but don’t stop.

She lifts her chin,

the tight purse of her lips unchanged.

She doesn't hear the audible sigh,

just the click of the camera.

When the photo gets developed, she will ask if she can keep it.

She wants to remember today, forever.