The light is shining on her face. It’s a deep pink from the sunset, tinting her skin rosy. She looks up at him and smiles as the stars start to appear twinkling in the distance. The breeze rustles her hair moving it ever so slightly so as to show life. The days have been getting unseasonably warm sooner than they used to be so she drops her sweater off of her shoulders and it falls to the ground. It is quiet out here, far away from the noise of the house. Again the breeze comes, this time moving the grass around her feet causing her to smile because of the tickle. She realizes she is smiling and her mouth breaks open even wider showing her teeth to her non-present audience for his sake. It is like swimming underwater, her weightless feeling at that moment. She looks down over the cliff as if to take a dive but something holds her back. All of a sudden she feels so tired. Weight seems to push her into the ground. The dogs’ barks break her out of her spell. They were bringing in the sheep. It was that time of day.
She looked down again, the vast expanse of nothing but water and air spread out where the cliffs came to an abrupt end as if they were drowning.
I struck the match, the splinter of wood bursting into flames in between my fingers.I held the fire up to the incense stick that I pulled out of the slender yellow box covered in red writing in a language I could never understand.As the incense caught fire, I gently blew it out so the tip was burning orange and the smoke started to swirl.As it burned, the room became hazy and smelled of Indian temples in the exotic east bringing a familiar scent to my nose and hurling me back in time…
The room is small and made of cinderblock and painted with a shiny white latex paint.The side by side windows are thrown open welcoming in the fresh mountain air and the pinon tree that is growing crammed up against the dirt colored stucco wall.The window is ground level and the blue stone incense tray sitting on the sill with the orange tip swirling smoke up into the room.The smoke detector is up in the farthest corner of the room, against the large cupboards above the closet, mirror, and door.All are a dull gray.The mirror is also a cabinet, a set of dresser like drawers leave a shelf allowing for a jewelry box of cedar wood, a wire ring of earrings and a basket of bangles to sit.The back of the door is plastered in score sheets, the result of a week of a game played amongst friends that will be talked about for the year to come.The winner’s sheet is at the top of the door.A black mountain bike is next to the door, leaned against the wall, its front wheel twisted to make room for the bed its shoved up against.The bed is black with beaded imported pillows against the long wall.Christmas lights drape the wall in colors, surrounding a world map and a dozen dried roses tied up upside down.Beside the bed, under the window is a small stool being used as a table with a lamp and a bound leather notebook covered in black and pink designs.The wall next to the window has a canvas taped to it with dark gray duct tape over the corners.The painting is an abstract of a flower in burnt oranges, golden yellows and soft browns.At the corner is a bookshelf on the floor, neatly organized with philosophy, history and literature texts.A couple photo frames sit on the top, one in purple and one in blue, hold a black and white photo of a woman laughing her silver necklace showing, and a young brunette girl smiling at the camera.A wooden frame is straight up against the wall on top of the bookcase, a man leaning with his head down against a wall that seems to dwarf him.On the wall about the frames, a hand painted board a colorful sunset and hand of geometric shapes in front of a black back.A Deep Purple LP is next to it.On a wood board attached to the wall on which the bookshelf was supposed to have been hung up are three small records: Tony Bennett, Bobby Darin, Alice Cooper.An unused phone and its cord hang lazily down the wall next to the bulletin board with a business card, notes, thank you’s, invitations, a class assignment schedule for the month of May, a picture drawn by a little sister, and a playing card randomly attached.A Mums Champagne bottle holds a bouquet of lilacs, cherry blossoms, a sunflower, and a single rose.The bottle sits on a small dark wood set of basket drawers.The center of the room is interrupted with a desk jutting out from the wall and at an angle.A white computer sits on the end closet to the wall, a lamp bent over the work space, a tea cup on a coaster and a stack of math course work sit on the desk.An orange, red and yellow elementary painted jar of pens and pencils is next to the monitor.The wooden straw-seated chair rests on a American Indian woven rug in patches of colors and native designs.
I lay down on my bed, glancing at the bottle and frames on my nearly ceiling high bookcase, my books neatly filed among the others, the bulletin board on the far wall, the pillows on the window seat, the records on the wall.Looks like home, smells like home, seems like home.But I left my home in a small mountain town in the north.This will have to do for now.And it does.
