Now & Then
The window was lit with streaks droplets dancing their way down the glass, like organisms mindlessly commuting.
The record player in the corner of the living room crooned old jazz. Soft trumpets wailing like an elegy for a wasted day.
“It’s crazy to think,” Nick said, holding his book, “that animals have different senses. They say bees see a different spectrum of light. Isn’t that wild? They can see ultraviolet on flowers. And I guess the petals produce electromagnetic fields. Bees can sense that too. There’s an entire reality around us we’ll never see.”
Scattered crumbs and sausage residue streaked across the empty plates sitting on the coffee table. Dirty forks rested neatly to the side. A breakfast tableau complete with art books and coffee-stained mugs.
Laila sat staring at her phone, unmoved in her seat.
“Is that the book about shrooms?” She asked.
“Yeah, but I mean, it’s also more than that,” Nick said.
Incense burned a beautiful dance of calligraphy, Smoke drifting slowly with angular tendrils, fading into oblivion. The room soaked in a a dry aroma of wet Hinoki leaves and sandalwood.
“Want to watch a movie?” Laila asked.
“Sure, what do you want to watch?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know, something nostalgic maybe?”
“Like what?” Nick asked.
Laila paused to think. “How about Now and Then?”
Nick laughed. “Isn’t that a kids’ movie?”
Laila shrugged with tense shoulders.
“I don’t know. It’s one of my favorite movise. It’s so fun and nostalgic,” Laila said.
“I’m kind of in the mood for something different,” Nick said.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, something more stimulating.”
Laila scoffed. “Oh god, I’m not letting you pick the movie again,” she said, “I almost broke up with you after the last one we watched, remember?”
“Ok I’m sorry, but Chungking Express is a masterpiece. Sometimes it’s good to shake your snow globe. You can’t always watch comfort food,” Nick said.
“Sorry, I’ve already tuned out,” Laila said.
The record needle carved its way through the melancholy wax with the static sparkle of dust. They sat quietly surrounded by color-coded bookshelves and musky record sleeves. The warm flame of the candle was the only sign of life in the grey room.
“Babe?” Laila asked, in a playfully trepid tone.
“Yeah, babe?” Nick said.
“Do you think Franscita is ok?” Laila asked, fluttering her dark eyes.
“I’m sure she’s fine, they’re made for the outdoors,” Nick said.
A hummingbird's nest resided just outside their living room window, tucked away under the shelter of pelted leaves. The nest was tiny; an itchy patchwork of pine twigs, dirt, and cotton fuzz. All molded into a perfect concave the size of a grandmother's thimble.
“But babe, what about her little eggitos?” Laila playfully asked.
“She’s keeping them warm,” Nick said.
“Do you think we should put a tarp over the tree?”
Nick laughed. “It’s ok babe. I wouldn’t worry.”
The record player abruptly stopped as the vintage machine mechanically returned to its silent resting place. The room, though, was far from quiet. The gentle music of an ordinary day buzzed around them. Invisible noises synchronized together like an orchestra tuning their instruments.
There was the staccato rapping of rain against the house; the swishing metronome of the dishwasher; the bass of a distant airplane soaring above, the tumbling drum of the dryer lulling them to sleep.
“Did you talk to your mom today?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, we talked for a while,” Laila said, “I feel so bad, I just wish she lived closer. She’s working so much right now. I’m worried for her.”
“Try not worry, babe. I’m sure she’s doing fine,” Nick said. His demeanor then turned more serious.
“Did your Dad call?” he asked.
“No. Not that I expected him too.” Laila chuckled with a smile that quickly subsided.
Nick softly reached for her hand.
“Let’s watch Now and Then.” Nick said with a renewed energy.
“Are you sure, babe?”
“Of course. It’s your birthday.”
The brackish grey dimmed to dusk as Laila and Nick sat watching the movie. The crackle of the fire and nostalgic Nineties needle-drops guided Nick into a lucid sleep.
“You see Sam? There are no perfect families...”
Nick was suddenly jerked awake by the sound of dialogue.
Two girls were sitting in a treehouse glowing in indigo; their faces painted with the artificial blue of movie moonlight.
“It’s normal for things to be shitty,” the girl continued.
“It might be normal, but it still hurts,” the other said.
“All those parents died, Teeny. My dad chose to leave.”
The wetness of their cheeks pressed together as the girls embraced for a hug, accompanied by swelling string instruments.
Laila was perched on the edge of the couch; leaned forward, her face transmuted by the flickering blues and reds from the emenating screen. Tears were blooming in her soulful, brown eyes. The bottom half of her face though, Nick noticed, was nested in a smile. The kind of warm tranquility that wraps around your body when you see an old friend.
A sudden wave of realization stirred through Nick’s soul. He sat up straight and returned his attention to the movie. He finished the last hour of the film with Laila curled by his side, forgetting the whispers of mist outside in the muted distance. He held Laila closer than ever before.