A spider plant sits on a bay windowsill in a quiet, off-street neighbourhood in West London. It gently sucks moisture from its little pot of earth, softly exhaling oxygen and quietly making sugar. It has little to worry about.
On the other side of the bay, a thirty-two year old man sits cross-legged in the natural darkness of an early Autumn Friday night, slowly lifting a glass of red wine to his lips. The smoke from his cigarette is drawn lazily through the open window by a warm and gentle breeze. Quiet music plays. Beat-driven but measured, gentle and thoughtful. A girl gets up from her place at the dining table and walks into the kitchen to refill her glass. The bottle rests beside him.
Two white, oval plates rest on the dining table. Three garden peas lay in a residual quantity of jus on his, and on hers a tender strip of fat from a rib-eye. Two candles flicker and their dancing flames are reflected in the glass tabletop, under which a teenage cat purrs as it sleeps.
Laughter from the neighbours and their guests drift into the room, lightly mixed with the scent of woodsmoke and flame-grilled meat. And as this sound, this smell, the taste of the wine on his lips, the flickering candles in the half light, the warmth of the room and the night air become his world in all the fullness of his experience, he rests the wine glass on his thigh, closes his eyes, smiles, and gently rests his head against the wall behind him.
The girl emerges from the kitchen, holding an unopened wine bottle. She approaches him in her own time, her eyes carefully scanning the room. Opening his eyes once more, he rolls his head to face her and watches as she moves toward him and finally comes to rest an inch from his knee. He takes the bottle of wine from her hand, rests it on the windowsill, and replaces it with is own hand, slipping his fingers through hers. He takes the open bottle from beside him and she accepts it with her left.
The spider plant sits with them, slowly sucking moisture from its little pot of earth, softly exhaling oxygen and quietly making sugar.
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1 comment:
i like this one.. maybe because i could picture it clearly in my head, like i have been there before.. not at that very moment, no, but at another time.. the same table, the same guy, the same girl, the same cat..
i can't quite recall the spider plant though
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