Blank Space
By: HarrimanStandard –aka- Conductor-Cilan
Fine dust drifted about in the rays of sunlight flooding the room, bringing an end to her sleep. To her, this was a fairly big nuisance, needing her rest after yesterday. She didn't want to make any haste waking up though.
It was a weekend, and the overall atmosphere was calm—no cars jammed the streets below and their affiliated cacophony was absent, but the first beachgoers of the day had already claimed the broad swath of sand which faced the sparkling azure bay. Even for her it felt peaceful—quite a contrast to the day before, when every aspect of her ability to teach skill, beauty, and grace was on display before almost a thousand people—and she hoped to recoup some sleep lost in preparing for that grand performance.
She tried to doze off again, but the pestilent silver rays made it impossible. With this defeat she sat up, shedding the fluffy periwinkle comforter from her half of the mattress. In a ways, she restored part of a symmetry to it, as the other half which she faced had been vacant for some duration before. The wrinkled folds of her nightshirt straightened out into mere creases as she stretched, save for the baggy sleeves which gathered as her arms reached skyward. Refreshing energy came to every inch of her, sore joints righted themselves, and the final renewal of a relatively restful night sunk in.
Tossing the rest of the covers to the side, she stood up, stretching yet again before catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror affixed to the closet door. No matter how frumpy she seemed to look or how little style she supposedly had had, she still could find a positive, both outside and in. She giggled a bit at how her brown hair—the night before done up a bit more ornately than usual—had lost its form, all from removing one key ribbon. However, traces of the eloquent styling still remained.
As if unconsciously, she twirled around in front of the mirror, watching as the old collar and her bangs caught the sudden wind and took flight. She's beauty, she's grace! She could hear echoing in her head, announced at a contest long ago when she took the stage.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Wingulls outside, and the old CD player placed in front of a group of boxes.
Four should do it, he thought to himself, shutting off the stove and sliding a shining steel spatula under the airy, golden-brown form which occupied the entire skillet. Two for each of us. I'll probably be stuffed after one and a half if I got this right. She'll manage it though.
Moving his culinary craft onto a stack of three others like it, he took a second to look into the polished stone, catching his reflection—where a part once creased his hair, it had receded into disheveled smoothness, and his orderly bangs had begun to splay out into smaller bunches of hair. He stroked one of these bundles, attempting to restore order to the many emerald tendrils of which it was comprised.
The same sunlight that caused her slumber's defeat was the same which illuminated the room, its primary 'focus' on one large patch of floor, sculpted by the sturdy concrete wall and embellished by steel windowpanes. He had set about his work under this light when it still had a gold tinge to it, and he stood back to admire his handiwork—four dinner plate-size pancakes and a French press full of coffee, the first meal he'd prepared entirely on his own in their new home.
Then something caught his ear, passing through the wall from the bedroom—despite the wall separating them from the elements being made from two feet of concrete and steel, the partitions between the rooms were merely stucco and plywood, and sound passed through them as though light through paper—mere silhouettes, yet still shining a light—shadows of bass chords and upbeat guitar strumming, it was being accompanied by a familiar, graceful voice he held near and dear.
On the other side of the 'paper wall', her light shone bright, and she immersed herself fully in its glow. Swept up in the music she continued her performance before the mirror, each sweeping move as eloquent as the Wingulls and Pelippers gliding over the rooftops, roads, and viaduct outside the glass.
She never envisioned herself as a singer, but even then she didn't lack skill at it. Although she felt she missed a number of notes or came in flat, most everyone would hear her hitting them all right. Then again, 'most everyone' hadn't heard her performances from the get-go. This was one of her finest yet, lost in harmonizing with the vocals issuing from the speakers.
And in a second, she stopped, but the music carried on. A familiar face was visible in the mirror, emerald-green hair above and pastel lavender pajamas below…and as always, a familiar grin was visible on it. She stopped mid-step, her hair continuing the movement forward briefly before falling back down, across her shoulders. She could feel blood rushing to her cheeks, and herself shrinking a bit in embarrassment. And the familiar smirk softened to a loving smile as he rose from his lean against the doorframe and shuffled up to her.
"Wanted to tell you breakfast is ready," He said softly before he kissed her on the cheek. "Finally mastered my family pancake recipe, you're gonna love it."