Under Grey Skies
I drove down a lane, in our heads and in a rusty car, while we developed love under grey skies. Her eyes sparkled though, delivering a contrasting energy, giving me something endearing to look at. The car we were in was a wreck, a motor barely held together, but she was the main attraction, girl rebellions in nature and focused on nearing the utopia which we both longed for.
The road was fairly empty. The tress hung over like breathing giants. We spoke in parts then we fell into silence, trying to reconnect. It felt awkward at times, but we knew our lives would be better when we reached our destination. Every moment felt gracious, precious. And this rebel who ran away with me was beautiful in and out, covered in tattoos which read like quotes. They were novel like sentences, a wide range of wording. One quote dazzled me, etched in my mind.
‘’Look for the flicker of light in the dark, then dream.’’
She was a character, a protagonist who clicked hope into place. She reminded me of a princess, albeit an unconventional one. Her skin was porcelain, white as fresh snow, but she wasn’t cold to the touch, she was warm and fiery in temperament.
It was her past which had given her an attitude, a no-nonsense approach, providing her with traits. These attributes served her well, breaking her into sequence of life. Her father drank, and his soaring temper made her feel a wrath of power so frightening and potent, she knew she had to leave the red mist, and stand assured she’d be fine.
We meet in a bar, surprisingly, in a town called Entity, and I was then catapulted into her world. The night was free, though broken into pieces of sorrow as she cried, impacted by what she had gone through in her early years. Those frenetic times didn’t shape her but they made her stronger and thick-skinned, ready for battle.
Alcohol flowed, on that particular night; love was embraced, nurtured into something extraordinary. We also danced, and we looked into each other’s eyes, benefiting from the true glow. From then on, it felt like we knew the steps we had to take, down streets which weren’t crumbling but avenues laced in flower beds and monuments of grandeur.
Not everything was plain sailing, though. She had complex problems mentally, and she tried to shuffle her dreams above the despairing hollowness. In time, she began to feel energy bigger than anything she felt before. That energy, removed the pain for a while, ejecting it from her intelligently woven mind.
I drove some more. The rain crashed into the atmosphere, colliding with the grey, unremarkable day. It was unremarkable because of the weather, the soggy forecast.
As the rain fell, she turned up the crackly radio and she rediscovered her love for rock music, a raucous array of songs which would fit the sweaty rooms and bars in America’s heartland. She sang out of tune, to Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit but there was something arresting about her performance, a style, a grace, an embrace.
Singing until her throat burned, she stopped and recovered her breath. The energy was frantic, but significant to the journey. Breaking into song turned the light on in her heart and had given her a platform, a beating foundation. She was in her element, bashfully alerting the senses.
The radio died. The silence came in fast, restoring its control. But then, she touched my hand, sending a shiver of hope into my body. Rather than escape the silence we became immersed into it, and we listened to the engine failing.
The car shut down. We knew it would, eventually, and thankfully we were near the place of peace and prosperity, well a section of America where the land was fruitful, the crime rates were down, and the people had morals.
We picked up our bags and left the tired vehicle behind. The road ahead didn’t look treacherous; it looked like a sweet lane to paradise. From then on we talked about the future, the pull of dreams. She knew she could dream big and often, as she left behind the gutter and the dregs.
We then strolled through nature’s magic, an eye catching array of flowers and ancient tress. Our momentum was truly rising. And we felt, new, like we had brand new eyes seeing the world in a new way.
The rain left dew on the grass and a familiar smell, a scent which was alluring in a weird way. It was a smell coupled with a perfume she wore, an essence, layered, in notes. Memorable, it didn’t fade, and she didn’t drop off into nothingness, like a ghost, she was absolutely real, a breathing human.
We walked further, fascinated by the stretch of land. The house up ahead lit up the unremarkable day. It was a diamond shining, swathed in greenery, beautiful in structure, and we knew we hit gold, we knew our lives would be in tune with the surroundings.
And yet we spotted which looked like a silhouette. It had arms and legs, but it was still. Dusk was ready to emerge, and we were slightly spooked by what was in front of us. We moved further, steadily, waiting to fully see the shape.
‘’Hello’’ she shouted.
The figure turned around and became animated, like it grew in immense power.
‘’Are you okay?’’
As we reached up ahead, the shape was of a young boy with blonde hair. He wore a blue jacket which complimented his eyes. His hands were bleeding and the expression on his face was of terror.
‘’Hi.’’
The boy didn’t reply. It was like he was mute, quiet, reserved. We tried to ask as many questions as possible, but he didn’t seem have a voice. Truth be told, we were dumbfounded and perplexed by the situation.
He then offered his bleeding hand and I took it. It was cold and cut deep.
‘’We can help you.’’
There was a lighthouse beaming in the distance. An iconic building built in stature, hanging over the sea. It was angelic, even when the water battered against it.
And when we reached the house the rain stopped pouring. Everything lit up, vibrant and radiant, grand and warm, pulsing like a rapid heartbeat.
We were free from the darkness in that moment. We were free from the storms and the confrontations.
The dullness had become obsolete as the light filled the scene. Every step forward felt joyous too, the past had become locked away, and our love rippled through us like a current.
But, the boy needed our help. He needed reassurance, a change of scenery or a hand from god. He put his hands to his mouth like he was directing us to give him some food. Of course, he must have been starving.
I handed him a sandwich and he ate like a starving dog which hadn’t had food for days. He did thank us by smiling, an expression of jubilation. Through time, too, he did set himself into our world, but we had to know why he was stranded near our new house.
He would daydream considerably, lost in his thoughts. We could tell by the lack of eye contact. We persevered with him, writing down notes on paper, asking him to point to the relevant question.
‘’Where have you come from?’’ I asked
He picked far and wide.
‘’Where?’’
A different country.
We began to piece together a resolution.
The boy had come from somewhere foreign. A war torn country, one under a regime, but how did he get here?
We drew a boat and a plane.
He picked boat.
The boy must have seen misery first hand, we thought. On his neck he had a number. It was number 22. He was a just a number to somebody or some sort of pact or regime.
The boy began to smile for possibly the first time in months. His hands started to warm up as well. A song came on the radio too, a fitting song pure in its delivery, a sonic adventure through sound. He then tapped his feet; he put his hands in the air and was happy to be alive.
The pain left the boy’s soul, like it evaporated, leaving him steady and controlled. He couldn’t talk, but he could use his expressions and they were infectious.
‘’You’ll be happy here.’’
A smile represented a blooming connection which grew, a flourishing dream which altered our own horizons as well as his. We didn’t know anything about creating a safe world for an estranged kid either, though we knew we had to be there to soften the impact.
Courage. He had courage. And his young body had taken hurt; it was blemished by the downsides of life.
We made a bed for him. A sanctuary of warmth and stability coloured in with yellow and orange, colours that stirred creativity and aborted the dullness and gloom, and she was, of course, a painter, a proficient artist who carried the creative spark, a city girl, a master.
He went up to the safe space, and in time, he lay down, taking in the colourful ambience. The beauty had attracted him, modest beauty, but beauty which enforced calmness in him.
His eyes shut. He was secure in sleep, he was safe, but we knew we had to gain an insight. Though it was true, we saved a lost soul.