A/N: sort of my craptastic default chapter, just to get things rolling. It's no great masterpiece unfortunately and a little bit too much description, but I'm kind of a perfectionist. PG-13 for later chapters, not necessarily this one.
The ceiling is blue. I blink. Blue with black dots. Now it's almost completely black, with little bits of blue creeping in. I blink again. It's a sanctuary, sort of, looking up at the ceiling. The wall is white, pieces of underlying baseball wallpaper scattered throughout. But the white is only a small fraction, inferior to the dominating trees, people, and other pieces of my mind that flow out on paper each time the door opens, clamoring to be the first out. She tells me it's a gift. The collages, glass mobiles, sculptures, the ring I only half-finished.
Her portrait, her eyes faraway, leaning on the balcony, a fallen lock of hair caught in motion. I tured it so she could see it, and I could almost see words trapped in that delicately formed mouth, and then it met mine.
There's so much to capture, I could never hope to capture it all.
"Hey! Adam!" I blink. "Yeah?" It's my dad. "The hotel called. They need you to work an extra shift tonight." Pause. "Yeah, ok", I said, even though that wasn't where I was going to be spending my evening. Tonight was supposed to be the night that Jane and I we're going to Garage Fest, our second proper date, but the first since Judith died. I asked her last week about it, and she went all quiet, but attempted to smile at me. "Okay, we'll go."
I would have told him, but I know much better not to involve myself in many of my father's conversations when his back is sore, which I know because when he tells me I have to work an extra shirt, it usually means the price of his prescription has gone up. There's almost a wall, between the real world and the one that I hopelessly crash-land into, the one of what's the point of living if I stay the assistant 'vaccuumer' at Roman Hotel until I turn 65? The same routine, the one that I get ingrained into, the tired wheel that turns the same way every day. Whenever Joan leaves, I realize how much I rely on her to bring magic to the picture.
And I'm going to the concert anyway.
I slam the door, making the camper on the back vibrate, and Joan to shiver. " Are you ready?" I ask tentatively, implying more than I say or she hears. This concert is overnight, and I thought we might go a bit further in our relationship. She looks at me strangely, and bites her quivering bottom lip, almost like she's about to spill it all out at the intersection. She smiles mischeviously, and says "I'm ready if you are."
"We're going to have to, you know, sleep in the camper."
"So?" She shrugs.
" I meant that, well maybe, we could... well, never mind." I have a nagging feeling that this trip means something different to her. I'm not quite sure what it means to me either, or what will become of it on the other side, but I do know that these hormones seem to know what they're doing. I shake my head. Thinking about Joan isn't hte best thing to do while I'm driving 2 tons of machinery, and Jane herself.
