a crow

The casualties had grown, smothered ends, a pile of brown filters.


She kept them to the side, away from him, she sat on the ground, as did he. Her legs crossed, back against the peeling paint walls of the porch. He sprawled out, laying on side, propped up on an elbow.

He made some comment, she laughed without really hearing what he said. He was in one of those rare moods, pleasant, entertaining. It was unusual, unexpected. The sun was in decline. it feels like two falls ago. or was it spring? how could i forget? the light is so different between fall and spring. the days feel nothing alike. but i’ve lived this feeling before, i remember this. was it fall or spring? when am I remembering?

Clumsy fingers into the box. A survivor heard but evasive. He rolled onto his back. She found the cigarette. They looked out into the parking lot, she turned to him. He was staring at something, she couldn’t figure out what. A few besieged trees, a handful of silent browbeaten cars was all the lot held. there’s more grey in his hair. a lot now. and some in that silly beard of his, as if anything could hide that still boyish smile.

inhale.

-You should move down. You could move in here. It’d be fun.- Him

exhale.

-Yeah it would-

-We could get giant black and white posters- Him

-An Elvis one? When he was young. And a Michael Caine one?-

-Was Michael Caine ever young?-Him

She laughed. Or did she? Or had she been laughing the whole time? when was this moment i am in again? A crow landed in an empty parking spot. His voice again in the background. She was never going to move in with him she knew, and so did he.

It was okay, they carried on.

She stared at the bird. i don’t think i’ve ever seen a crow so black, its feathers dark, depthless but somehow they’re still distinct. the sort of dark you could never see through, only stare into, like the black of space, like the black of time. when was that time? that feeling? She could smell bourbon. He had gone quiet, as had she. The bird cocked its head to look at her.

And she realized she was wrong.

The bird was not black, it was an inexplicable dark blue.

And she realized she was wrong.

She hadn’t been remembering a time, she had been remembering the sound of her own laughter.